The Retiree
by ssirius-blackk
Summary: Frank Gold is a lonely, retired CIA agent with an unusual friendship with a government pension worker named Belle French. Unfortunately, people start to notice his attachment to her and force him out of retirement.
1. Storybrooke, Maine

_**Beep! Beep! Beep!**_

At 6 a.m. sharp, the alarm clock annoyed its owner awake. He slowly opened his eyes, and allowed the beeping to continue until it became unbearable. He sat up and gently pressed the snooze button. He then swung his legs over the side of the bed, reached for his cane and stood up.

As soon as he was vertical, he went through a mundane morning routine: get dressed, make breakfast, brush teeth, clean dishes, clean an already clean house, punch the speed bag and hanging heavy bag in the basement, and sift through the mail.

It was boring, but necessary. The man remembered a time when his life wasn't on a set schedule, where it was fraught with danger and the great unknown.

His past was completely unpredictable.

Nowadays, it was entirely predictable.

He walked outside into the brisk Maine air to take out the trash and gather the mail. A neighbor greeted him as he walked past with his dalmatian in tow. The man grunted in reply and limped back into his pink house.

He sighed, sitting down in his favorite chair and skimmed through the stack of letters. When he got to the end of the stack, the corner of his mouth lifted and he immediately reached for his phone.

"May I have your social?" an operator asked a few ringtones later.

"Five four three, six six, two two nine one. Pension services please." he answered.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold," the operator said. "Please hold for a representative."

A few clicking noises and thousands of miles away in a place called Kansas City, a young woman with dark brown, wavy hair and bright blue eyes sat in a cubicle, reading a trashy romance novel as she answered her ringing phone.

"Hi, this is Belle," she said in a monotone.

"Hey, it's Frank Gold," a distinctly accented voice greeted.

Belle sat up a little bit straighter and smiled. "Hey! What's going on?"

"Nothing terribly exciting. I'm calling because I didn't get my check…again," he said.

"Oh, jeez, are you kidding?" she dog-eared her book and immediately reached for a pad and pen. "I can't _believe_ they haven't worked this out yet! I'll make sure they get you another one out today,"

"No matter," he muttered. Gold ripped up the pension check in front of him with a smile.

"I'm so sorry, it won't happen again," she still tried to make amends.

Gold felt his smile widen. He felt guilty tricking her like he did, but listening to the way Belle talked, all the little nuances in her speech…it was utterly breathtaking.

"No, it _does_ matter. Obviously you worked for the government for a long time, you deserve any penny you can get," she insisted.

"Speaking of matters…how's that rose coming along?" Belle instantly changed the subject.

Gold glanced to his right, staring at a tiny terracotta pot with a single rose stem set in the middle of it.

"I think it's starting to bud," he replied.

"That's great! See, I told you could grow something if you put your mind to it," he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Indeed you were right," he agreed. "How's your day going?" he wondered.

Belle groaned and leaned her forehead against her hand.

"That good, eh?"

"It's just so _boring!_ It's an endless routine of blah," she sighed. Belle touched a postcard reverently.

"All I want to do is travel, to go somewhere like…Chile. Have you ever been to Chile?" she wondered.

"I have," Gold said.

Belle sat up a little bit taller. "Really? What was it like?"

"Mountains…there were mountains," he mumbled.

She waited for him to say more about the South American country, but, as usual, the mysterious Frank Gold wasn't very forthcoming.

"…that's it?" she asked.

"It was…dark when I went," he answered.

Belle raised an eyebrow, but reluctantly let the subject drop. On the other side of the phone, he slapped his forehead.

 _"It was dark"?! Christ, that sounded idiotic!_ he berated himself.

Belle glanced up from her book's cover and saw her supervisor glare at her with thin lips.

"Listen, I gotta go, Sylvia's glaring at me again," she said quietly.

"Alright, I'll talk to you —" he started to say.

Belle hung up the phone and glared right back at Sylvia. " _What?!_ " she demanded.

Sylvia shook her head disapprovingly, then turned to leave. Belle rolled her eyes and went back to reading.

"— later, then…" he finished quietly. He set his phone back in it's stand and ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair.

Gold stood up from his chair and went through the rest of his day in the same, mundane routine.

* * *

A week later, Gold received another pension check. With a wry smile, he ripped up the check, and called pension services. He and Belle went through their customary business before promptly starting a more casual conversation.

"So, uh, what are you reading this time?" Gold asked. He knew that she was a great lover of books, and she was currently enamored with five dollar romance novels.

He heard Belle laugh and sigh wistfully. "God, it's _terrible!_ It's about this fashion designer and his super-model girlfriend, and they're recruited by the CIA to help stop a string of assassinations during the Milan Spring Fashion Shows,"

Gold coughed in an attempt to cover a laugh. He knew for a _fact_ an agency like the CIA would _never_ do anything like recruit a fashion designer, or a model for that matter. Not unless they needed a huge, just barely believable cover-up.

"What's it called?" he reached for a pen and some paper, but instead settled on a scrap of envelop.

"It's called ' _Love's Savage Secret'_ by Zelena Green," she replied with a giggle. "Everything about it is so delightfully cheesy,"

He wrote down the title and glanced at his side table. It was stacked with similarly titled books, all poorly written by the same lovesick woman.

Gold set his pen down and took a deep breath. An idea occurred to him the last time they had talked, and, after being at war with himself over it, decided that that moment was as good as any to bring it up.

"Listen, Belle, I'm going to be in Kansas City next week," he said as casually as he could.

Belle fell silent on the other line. Gold wasn't sure how to react, and waited for her to say something.

"Belle?" he asked a few moments later.

"I'm here," she replied distantly.

He wasn't sure if her answer was a good sign or not.

"So…what do you think?" he wondered.

There was a long moment of silence before Belle talked again. "I…I'm not sure it would be a good idea," she answered. "I would be an adventure, but not the adventure I need,"

Gold felt himself deflate. He knew that Belle would not go for the idea — why would she; she's incredible and far too good for him — but he had something he never had for anyone else: hope.

"I understand." he said.

Belle bit her lip, unsure what else to say. She saw Sylvia stalking towards her and figured that the conversation was as good as over.

"Goodbye, Frank." she said, and pressed the _end call_ button. Belle removed her headset and walked out of her cubicle, passing Sylvia and telling her that she was going to take an early lunch.

Gold still had his phone plastered to his ear, listening to the disconnected call tone. After several minutes of self-deprecating reflection, he hung up the phone, stood up, and went through the rest of his day.

When the day drew to an end, he flipped through the pages of _Love's Savage Secret_ with mild distaste. He wasn't entirely sure what it was about these silly books that appealed to Belle, even when she did put them down harshly. But anything in vain attempt to impress her, he would try, despite what happened when they ended their conversation.

* * *

The glowing green numbers on Gold's clock informed him that it was 3 a.m. He lay in bed wide awake, willing himself to fall back asleep. When he found that it was an impossible task, he got up out of bed and walked down the stairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

As soon as he reached the bottom step, his spine started to tingle. It was an old feeling he thought he had long since buried.

He lifted his cane off the ground and slowly limped towards the kitchen.

In the doorway, Gold saw a shadow, shaped like a heavily armored man. As carefully as he could, he snuck up behind him, and with the handle of his cane, hit him square in the back of the head. The shadow fell down with a grunt.

Just as Gold suspected, it alerted his presence to a team of other shadows; clearly mercenaries.

He instantly slipped back into the person he once was: a Scottish expatriate who once worked for the CIA as one of its number one assassins.

He thought he had shedded that old part of himself completely, but with unusual ease — despite his limp — he was able to disarm all five of the mercenaries.

Before they could shoot or completely draw any of their weapons, he knocked them out of their hands. He used his cane to break body parts and make it easier to bring them to unconsciousness. One man tried to plunge a syringe into his neck, but he quickly pulled him in and instead released the contents of the syringe into his attacker's own neck.

As the last man fell to the ground, he bent down and pulled a magazine from one of the men's utility belt. He limped to the kitchen, reaching for a frying pan and a bottle of olive oil. Gold turned on the stove, placed the pan on top, poured some oil, and, removing a few bullets from the magazine casing, dropped them into the pan.

After he disposed of the casing, he opened a closet door, pulled out a large black duffle bag, then headed for the door leading to the basement. Gold turned on the light and ran down the stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he grabbed a sledge hammer and dragged it to the middle of the room. With little effort, he lifted it and brought the hammer straight down, cracking the concrete floor. Quickly finding a rhythm, he broke through the two-foot thick floor, revealing a safe.

Gold turned the dial to the memorized code, opened it and pulled out the contents. He stuffed the fake passports and foreign currency into the duffle bag. The moment his bag zipped closed, he heard the bullets shoot out of the overheated pan. He looked up and smiled wryly.

Once the pan had ceased firing, he heard gunfire coming from outside of the house. From his position, it sounded like ten semiautomatics shooting up his home.

 _Just as I suspected._ he thought to himself. He reached into the safe again and pulled out a GLOCK G41. Gold checked the magazine, then grabbed an extra one and put it in his robe pocket.

He threw the duffle bag over his shoulder, picked up his cane and decided to get rid of as many of the mercenaries as possible, then change clothes and leave his house immediately.

The gunfire continued as he walked up the stairs.

When he reached the top step, he leaned close to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, he moved his gun to his pocket, lifted his cane and slowly slipped through the door.

Gold kept his back close to the wall, quietly sidestepping and listening. He knew these were well-trained killers with countless missions under their belt. But he also knew that they were no match for him.

Feeling a creak in the wood floor, Gold immediately sprang into action. He used the handle of his cane to hook onto a mercenary's vest and pull him in. With a calculated swing, he brought the man's back to his and used the cane to choke the man. He tried to struggle, but Gold quickly lifted his cane at an angle and slammed it into his throat, causing him lose more air.

Just as the mercenary fell to the ground, more came.

His movements became a blur; one after another the men attacked and fell at his feet, killed almost immediately by either his cane, a gun or his bare hands.

By the end of it all, Gold was breathing heavily. He could feel his age catching up to him, and his knee throbbed painfully. He ran a hand through his hair as his breathing started to even out. With the aid of the wall, he went to the kitchen to down a few pain killers, then limped back up the stairs to his bedroom.

 _I have to get to Belle, and fast._ he told himself.

* * *

 _Oh, God, get me out of here!_ Belle French thought to herself. She sat in an old mini van belonging to her date of the night, a man named Gaston DuLuc. When he pulled up outside her apartment building, she immediately removed her seat belt and got out of the car before he even stopped the car.

"Hey, aren't you going to invite me up?" Gaston asked after he parked the car and opened the door.

"No!" she said, reaching for her keys in her purse.

"But I bought you dinner!" he whined.

 _So?_ she rolled her eyes just as she got the key into the front door of the building.

Belle mumbled to herself angrily as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, going through the entire date in her mind. Once again, she went on a really, really, _really_ bad date.

"And you live with your mother!" she said out loud, slamming her door behind her.

She threw her purse on the floor and dropped her coat down right next to it. Normally, she was impeccably clean and orderly, but at the moment, she could care less about cleanliness and wanted nothing more than to sit on her couch drinking a can of her favorite ice tea. Belle went into the kitchen just as she pulled off her sweater, revealing a lacy camisole and more cleavage than she would publicly show.

"Well, you're certainly not getting any _this_ ," she pulled open her refrigerator and grabbed the first can of Arizona tea she saw. She popped it open and guzzled it down, still mumbling to herself.

Belle walked into her living room, passing by her front door.

"Hey." a deep, apparently Scottish accented voice greeted quietly to her.

She froze in her tracks and gulped down the tea still in her throat. Ever so slowly, she turned in the direction of the voice and beheld an older man with brown hair streaked with gray, brown eyes and a gold-handled cane.

 _Oh. My. God._


	2. Kansas City, Kansas

_Oh. My. God._

Without preamble, Belle tossed her half-empty can at Gold, then ran into her living room and proceeded to throw random objects, all the while crying for help.

Despite years of honed-in reflexes, Gold found that he was barely able to block the oncoming storm of objects.

"Wait, — _ow!_ — Belle, it's me, Frank Gold —" he stuttered.

"How the _hell_ did you get into my apartment?!" she yelled. She stood on her couch, grabbing her giant candle holder and throwing the candles at him.

Just as she was about to throw the heavy, iron candle-holder, she suddenly stopped and looked around. "Did…did you vacuum?" she asked.

"Well…yes," Gold admitted with a shrug. "It was a little messy,"

Belle stared at him dumbfounded. Then she looked around the room again to see if there was anything else amiss, and she spotted her suitcase sitting next to her couch.

"Why is my suitcase sitting out here? Did you pack my clothes?" Belle stared at the man incredulously.

Gold took a deep breath, then stepped forward until he was a foot away from her. "Belle, we have to go. There are people trying to kill me…and you as well,"

Belle visibly froze, and dropped the candle-holder. A thousand reasons crossed her mind, each more far-fetched then the last, before she shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"Wh-why would anyone want to kill _me?_ "

Gold gulped. This wasn't what he had in mind when he imagined meeting her and ultimately professing his feelings, but now it was too late and her life was in serious danger.

"They have been listening in on our conversations," he said.

Belle lifted a skeptical eyebrow. Gold groaned, looked away from her and ran a hand through his hair. Finally, he looked back at her and sighed.

"Because of the way I talk to you," he finally admitted.

Belle tilted her head in confusion and stared at him incredulously. After a moment, a look of understanding dawned on her face. Gold took advantage of her shocked and eased her off the couch. With some struggle, he managed to herd both Belle and her hastily packed suitcase out of the apartment.

* * *

"Listen, Granny, kids unfortunately get bullied all the time," a young, blond woman explained to her phone's earpiece. "I'll talk to him when I get home from work,"

She walked around a large, glass house, wearing disposable rubber gloves and carrying around a suitcase holding packets of hair and fingerprints. She rolled her eyes at the response of her son's nanny.

"Granny, I don't have the time to — don't you _'Emma Swan'_ me — alright, _fine_ , put Henry on the phone."

Emma walked into a bathroom, opened up her kit and started strategically placing hairs as she waited for her son Henry to talk.

"Mom?" a young voice asked. Emma couldn't help but smile. Even on her darkest days, hearing her son's voice all ways brightened them.

"Hey kid," she replied. "Granny told me about what's been happening at school. And what you did to solve it,"

"Oh…" he muttered. She imagined Henry hanging his head a little, just waiting for her to yell at him.

"While I appreciate your initiative to defend yourself, filling a locker with frogs is _not_ okay," she said.

Henry groaned. "I know, but Mom —"

"We'll discuss this fully when I get home," Emma interrupted. She had just finished sticking a few fingerprints on the bathroom doorknob and walked out into the main room, where a mousy man was standing on a chair, with his hands tied behind his back, his mouth taped and a noose hanging around his neck.

"Okay…" he huffed. "Granny said we're out of two percent milk. She was wondering if you could pick some up on your way back," he added.

"Two percent? Sure, I'll see you when I get home. I love you," she said.

"I love you too, Mom. Bye."

Emma returned the salutation, then pressed on her earpiece to end the call. She turned her attention to the man, her face devoid of any emotions. Emma walked forward until she was standing directly in front of the chair. The man was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Emma reached for the tape on his mouth and ripped it off.

"Wait, wait, you don't have to do this. I have money, I can make you rich! I'll pay double — no, _triple_ whatever they're paying you! Just, please, don't kill me!" the man pleaded.

Emma smirked, then kicked his chair out. He cried out and kicked fruitlessly in an effort to stop from asphyxiating, but it only made the process go faster. She crossed her arms and waited for the man to stop moving.

When he was just hanging by a broken neck, Emma untied his hands and walked away. Just as she reached the door, her phone vibrated twice, letting her know she had a text message.

 _Washington Monument. 30 minutes. — R.M._

Emma packed up her equipment, and walked out of the glass house as if nothing happened. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out the keys to her yellow Volkswagen bug. She threw her bags into the backseat carelessly as she sat down and slammed the car door shut. Emma sped out of the driveway to Washington, D.C.

Twenty-eight minutes later, Emma walked along the sidewalk adjacent to the Washington Monument until a black sedan drove up to her. Looking both ways, Emma walked to the car and hopped into the backseat. As soon as the door was closed, the black-haired woman sitting next to her ordered the driver to move along.

"Good work today, Ms. Swan," she said, giving Emma a red-lipped smile.

"Thank you. Deputy Director Mills," she nodded in acknowledgement. "But you could have said that to me back at the office,"

Regina's smile dropped. She reached forward into the pocket of the front seat and pulled out a file. Regina handed it to Emma, who quickly opened it and started skimming through it.

"Frank Gold, Scottish expatriate and retired analyst," Emma read outloud. She glanced at her superior for an explanation.

"The Agency wants him taken out," Regina said firmly."It will be a great opportunity to further your career,"

The blond agent raised her eyebrows in surprise, but quickly schooled her features. Regina was right of course; taking out former agents was usually a sure-fire way of moving up in the ranks within the CIA.

Regina, however, misinterpreted the quick show of emotions as hesitation and uncertainty. "Will this be a problem, Ms. Swan?" she asked.

Emma looked straight into her boss' dark brown eyes.

"No."


	3. New Orleans, Louisiana (Part 1)

"I apologize that it had to be this way, Belle," Gold said. He glanced at the rear-view mirror at the woman glaring at him in the backseat. "Believe me, this is _not_ how I imagined our first meeting to go,"

Belle, who was tied up and had duck tape over her mouth, glared and started to yell. Or, more accurately, muffle loudly. Gold listened to her complain, trying not to laugh at the sight of her in a tied-up rage.

He wasn't entirely sure _why_ he bonded her. He supposed it was because of some old habits; the best way to keep someone safe, was to keep them close…and tied up. Or, if he was being completely honest with himself, it was to guarantee that she wouldn't run away from him.

Despite her hands being tied, Belle managed to flail them around enough to make her point. She even hit her head on the back of the passenger's seat when she degraded her own intelligence in regards to the types of men she apparently attracts. Finally, her musings dyed down into a pathetic whine and a quiet mention about being hungry.

"I'm hungry as well. What should we get?" Gold asked.

Belle looked away from him before mumbling "pizza".

Gold couldn't help but give her an amused smile, which caused her to kick the back of his seat.

* * *

Emma sat in a CIA jet, staring intently at her laptop. Papers and file folders were strewn out in front of her in a haphazard mess. She was trying to get into the head of Frank Gold. Despite being an analyst, his file revealed very little about him; even his psych evals were incredibly vague.

So, because of that, she did what any good agent would do: go through his trash.

It was mostly papers; shredded files and such. Not that there was much of _that_ anyways. The mysterious former analyst was unusually good at covering his tracks.

"What makes you tick, Mr. Gold?" Emma wondered out loud.

When an answer didn't immediately come, she groaned and idly shuffled through some papers when she came across what looked like a ripped up check. She remembered coming across a similar scrap, and started to search for it. When she finally found it, Emma slowly put the two pieces together, forming a government pension check with Gold's name written all over it.

She laughed in relief, clearly excited about the lead. She searched through the piles some more and found other torn checks, matching them as best she could.

As soon as she finished, Emma pulled her laptop closer and quickly tapped away. A moment later, the screen showed his phone activity, the majority of it with the government pension office in Kansas City, Kansas and an operator by the name of Belle French. Emma clicked on the other woman's name to pull up her file.

Belle French's background was common enough: she was born in Australia, and raised there until she was eight when her mother Colette French died in a car accident. Her father, Maurice, moved them to Kansas City where he opened a flower shop named _Game of Thorns_ (which, Emma thought, was a terrible name for a business). Belle initially had a full-ride scholarship to Harvard, but because her father suddenly became ill, she stayed behind and got her degree in library sciences from the local community college. Unfortunately for Belle, there was nothing really available for someone with a bachelor's degree in being a librarian, so she took a job with the government as a pension services operator for the past few years. What about her that made Gold want to call her specifically — Emma noticed that he figured out a way to time his calls that would ensure he spoke to her — the CIA agent had no idea. Ms. French was quite intelligent and beautiful, she supposed. But nothing about her seemed all that interesting.

 _To each their own, I guess._ Emma shrugged.

Still trying to make sense of this new information, Emma flagged French for any updates and decided to focus on cleaning up the mess in front of her.

Not even halfway through organizing, a loud _ping!_ filled the cabin. Emma looked up and saw that Belle French had placed a 911 call in…New Orleans, Louisiana.

Emma smiled widely. "I got you now, Mr. Gold," she whispered. She turned around in her seat and called out, "Mike, change of plans! We're going to New Orleans!"

* * *

Nearly three hours before Belle had called the police, Frank Gold had brought her to a dingy motel right in the middle of New Orleans. From the car into the motel room, he had released her from her bonds, but had kept her close as they moved from one confined prison to the other. She hoped that he wouldn't tie her up again. She didn't think it was necessary; Belle was too scared and too shocked to escape, as much as she wanted to.

But, of course, Gold did exactly that. He guided her to the lumpy bed and proceeded to bind her feet and her hands to the headboard, apologizing the entire time. He was about to put duck tape over her mouth again, which was, out of everything, the _last_ thing she wanted.

"No, you don't have to do that, I promise I'll be quiet," Belle pleaded.

Gold looked torn. She hoped that his struggle would work in her favor, until he murmured another "I'm sorry" and reached to place the gray duck tape on her lips. She tried to evade him, moving her head a hundred different, awkward directions until he won out. She groaned as he gently placed the tape on her.

He gently stroked her cheek. "You are so beautiful," he complimented. Belle rolled her eyes.

He asked if she wanted the t.v. on. She gave a muffled "I don't care!". He turned it on anyways. Gold limped to the door, then he turned back to her and smiled in a way that she assumed was supposed to be reassuring. "I'll be back soon. Try not to go anywhere, dearie," he warned.

As Gold walked out, he heard Belle loudly muffle a string of profanities in his wake. He chuckled as he closed the door behind him.

Removing a pair of sunglasses from the inside of his suit jacket, he put them on and walked straight on to the sidewalk.

After walking for fifteen minutes, Gold reached his destination. He allowed himself a wry smile. Of all the places his former colleague could choose to retire at, he chose a run-down business center that housed a private investigator's office.

Gold walked into the building and limped up a set of stairs. He walked down a dark, cobweb filled hall until he reached a door with the words _**G. Humbert, Private Investigator**_ painted across. Without preamble, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

The door revealed a one-room office with a beat-up vintage desk and five mismatched chairs. The overall scene gave off the impression of a B-movie film noir.

Gold saw the owner of the office occupying the desk chair, his back turned to the door and his attention focused on what looked to be a large white dog.

"Is he one of your relatives?" Gold asked, shattering the silence.

The man turned and gave a startled laugh. "Frank Gold, as I live and breathe," the man, Humbert, stood up and walked over to shake hands with his former colleague.

"Graham, it's been a long time," Gold commented. "And I see Wolf hasn't deserted you yet." He indicated to the animal approaching and sitting beside its owner.

Graham chuckled and scratched the top of the wolf's head. "I think he's more worried about _me_ deserting _him_ ,"

Graham crossed his arms and regarded Gold suspiciously.

"So…what do you want, Frank?" he asked suddenly.

Gold reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. He handed it to Graham, who looked inside and saw the mutilated fingers. He slightly grimaced and closed the envelope back up.

"Ugh. I remember when espionage was a gentleman's game," Graham groaned.

"These were taken from some men who attacked me last night. I need you to find out who they are," Gold said. "Assuming you still have some contacts in the service.

"Of course I still have contacts. Why else do you think I became a private eye?" Graham said. Suddenly, he sighed and looked around the room. "A private investigator in the middle of New Orleans with a bad heart…sometimes I can't believe this is what has become of me. After all those years fighting the bad guys, nearly getting killed every time…"

Gold shrugged. "I suppose that's the price we pay as we get older." He tapped against his bad leg with his cane.

Graham nodded. "I'll give you a call when I find out anything," he followed Gold to the door and shook hands with him. "It was good to see you, Frank." he said.

"You, too, Graham."

Just as Gold walked out the door, he felt a vibration his pants pocket. Pulling out the phone, he saw that Belle had called the police.

"Damn." he swore under his breath.

As fast as his leg could take him, he limped back down the street towards the motel.


	4. New Orleans, Louisiana (Part 2)

As the t.v. blared out in front of her, Belle simply glared at the screen. After a while, she decided to let out her frustrations by knocking her head back repeatedly. When that wasn't satisfactory enough, she decided to throw her entire body into it. She kept up a steady rhythm until she heard a crack and felt her arms drop down. She lifted her hands and saw the ropes had loosen. Elated, she pulled up her feet, untied the knots and ripped off the duct tape from her lips. Belle gave a pained squeak before grabbing the room phone and calling 9-1-1.

After the authorities arrived and she was cleared by an EMT, as well as finished giving her statement, Belle stood in the parking lot, chatting with one of the responding officers.

"You know, I think what you did was…really brave," the officer commented.

Belle couldn't help but feel flattered. She blushed and gave him a shy smile as she mumbled a thanks. The officer _was_ kinda cute, so the compliment was even more appreciated. He returned the smile, guiding her to his cruiser. She thought that was a little odd, but she wasn't sure _why_ , exactly.

"Listen, why don't I take you home?" he said.

Belle felt her stomach drop. She knew, she simply _knew_ that something bad was going to happen.

"Oh, no, that's alright, I'll find my own way home. Besides, I need to go grab my things anyways," she stammered, trying to move as far away from him as humanly possible.

The officer narrowed his eyes and grabbed her arm tightly, quickly pulling her to the cruiser.

"Ow! You're hurting me!" she cried out.

"Get in the damn car!" he hissed.

Belle tried to fight him off, but was instead pushed against the car. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pull out a syringe and inject it into her tricep. She started to scream as she felt the tight pinch of the needle start to pierce through her skin.

Belle started to feel nauseous, but was still lucid enough to hear a pained grunt and cracked bones. Her knees buckled, but before she could collapse, a strong pair of arms caught her.

"F-Frank?" she stuttered. She saw him put the needle close to his mouth and taste whatever chemical concoction that was just put into her. "Am…Am I going to die?" she asked with alarm.

"No, you're just going to go to sleep," he explained. He opened the passenger door and guided her in. "Come on, let's get you in the car," he said.

Belle felt the nausea increase as she sat in the seat. "I may vomit," she said.

Gold ignored her comment and limped into the driver's seat. He pulled out of the motel parking lot with amazing speed and precision.

"This is just like _Love's Savage Secret,"_ Belle observed.

When they were well and away, Belle rolled her head to her left, and stared at him with glazed-over blue eyes. "I am _high,_ " she informed him. "You have such beautiful brown eyes." she added.

Gold's eyebrow quirked upward just as a large, black Tahoe hit the driver's side of the fender.

Emma smirked slightly when she rammed behind the stolen police cruiser, causing it to spin. Her grey-green eyes were hard and uncaring, however.

The car spun around a few times. Gold shifted the cruiser's gears, grabbed his gun and opened the door. With adrenaline pumping through him, he was able to walk out of the car, tall and proud and shooting at the giant black car.

Broken glass fell onto Emma, causing her to duck behind the wheel and shift the SUV into reverse in an effort to get away.

Gold immediately limped back into the cruiser and drove away.

Belle looked between him and the car behind them. She turned back to Gold and giggled.

"Wow…that was some CIA type action," she commented. Gold gave her a quick sideways glance, then turned his attention back to the road.

She kept her gaze on Gold, and tried to make her face blank, but due to her drugged state, she failed miserably. "I've been wondering ever since you took me from Kansas," she started to say. "Tell me, Frank, and be honest: were you in the CIA?" she asked.

Gold kept his eyes on the road, but nodded and mumbled a "yes". Belle gasped, uttering a "I _knew_ it!" before giggling again.

Gold picked up the police scanner receiver and started talking into it. "Officer Down, corner of North Peters and Conti," he said in an American accent. "Suspect white female, 30s, red leather jacket and blonde hair, driving a black Tahoe."

Emma stopped the car when she saw the police cruiser was parked in the middle of an empty, four-way street. Ever so cautiously, she slipped out of the Tahoe and aimed her gun. Emma soon realized it was a trap when she heard sirens coming from different directions, and that the cruiser was empty.

"We have you surrounded! Put your weapon down!" an officer ordered through a PA speaker.

Keeping her face blank, she slowly put her gun on the ground and raised her arms. Suddenly, she was tackled to the ground by a very angry female officer.

* * *

Graham Humbert sat behind his desk, informing Gold what he had found out just moments before.

"They were an independent South African hit team, who are also suspected of killing a _New York Times_ reporter," he said. "Mulan Fa was her name. Do you know her?"

"No, I don't," Gold replied. From the ambiance, it sounded like Gold was in a car, driving very fast.

"Well, then. Somebody has a serious hard-on for you, sir," Graham mused.

"Yes," Gold agreed. "But why now? I'm retired."

"I'll dig some more,"

"Watch your back, Graham. And Wolf's too,"

"Need I remind you, Frank, that I have a ticker that is slowing down. What the hell can they do to me?"

"They can still shoot you,"

"I'm at risk of that being a private investigator. I hate to say it, but it's like I'm living _Magnum, P.I._ , only without the Hawaiian shirts," Graham chuckled.

Gold chuckled as well.

Graham heard his phone beep. "Hey, I got to go. When I find out anything more, I'll let you know. Good luck, Frank."

Graham switched lines. "Hey, what's up?"

His became grave at the information given to him on the other side of the phone.

"So it was CIA sanctioned?" he asked. The voice gave an affirmative answer. "Alright, Marian, thanks. I owe you one. Bye."

Graham quickly wrote on a piece of paper all the information he was given. Just then, he heard the door open and the click of a gun. Graham looked up and looked down the barrel of the gun.

He sighed and sat up a little straighter, looking at his would-be killer with a resigned gaze.

"So it's like that, huh?" Graham asked.

The assassin shrugged. "Yeah, it's like that." he answered.

* * *

Belle awoke with a start. Her head throbbed painfully, causing her to groan. She looked around and saw Gold and transferred them from a police cruiser to an old truck. After a mental shrug, she turned towards the window. Her tired eyes widened and her mouth dropped.

"How did we get to _New York City?_ " Belle asked loudly. She turned back to Gold and narrowed her eyes. "I _really_ hate you right now."

Gold shifted slightly in his seat, noticeable only to Belle. "I was just hoping you'd be a little more... _understanding_ of the situation," he said.

Belle rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I was hoping _not_ to get kidnapped. Or drugged," she glared at him again. "I was hoping you'd be _taller_. So it looks like none of our dreams are coming true, at the moment."

Gold nodded apologetically.

"I'm...sorry about that," he said quietly.

Belled sighed, and proceeded to remove the decorative rose bobby pin from her hair.

"Thanks for saving me, I suppose," she thanked him after a moment of quiet.

"It's no matter," he mumbled.

"It's not my _best_ first date," she mused to herself. She gave a breathy laugh. "Not my worst, either."

"Belle, until we find out who's trying to kill us, you're going to have to stay with me," Gold informed her.

Belle stared at him. "For how long?"

"I don't know. Whoever's trying to kill us, also killed a _New York Times_ reporter. She used to live in Chinatown,"

"And that's why we're going to New York, then?" she asked.

Gold nodded.

Despite herself, Belle smiled widely. Sure, she was scared out of her mind, but something about what has happened within the past 24 plus hours (honestly, she really wasn't sure, and she wasn't about to ask) was undeniably _exciting._


	5. New York City, New York

Belle could barely contain her excitement as she walked with Gold through the crowd of people in one of New York City's most famous neighborhoods: Chinatown. She hadn't really traveled since her father moved them from their small provincial town in Australia to Kansas City. But, not even when she was eight years old, did she ever consider it as "traveling" so much as "running away". Which was more or less what she was doing now, except a bit more life-threatening.

She followed Gold, who somehow managed to find opening after opening in the throng to sneak through. If she had gone to New York by herself, she would have just knocked into people as she wandered around. And she would have gotten lost as well; which, according to the many travel books she has read, is the best way to learn about a new place.

Of course, if she hadn't had those professionally inappropriate, lengthy phone calls with Frank Gold, she would probably have gone to New York or Paris or wherever by herself, and it would have been _without_ the threat of people with guns and probably other killer skill sets trying to wipe her off the face of the Earth.

Gold suddenly pulled her aside into an open shop, where he unzipped his duffle bag and proceeded to show her what was in there. Just as Gold was barely halfway through explaining his plan, Belle completely shot him down.

"You can't just tie up people to get them to talk!" she hissed. "Especially not a grieving mother," she added.

Gold stared at her, blinking a few times. "It has been my experience that people _always_ talk when they're tied up," he said defensively.

Belle raised a dubious eyebrow. "Probably because you interrogate them, and they want nothing more than to be untied," she dead-panned.

She shook her head in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. "The woman just lost her daughter! You don't know what's in a person's heart until you truly get to know them," she said. "People can genuinely be pretty decent."

Gold stared at her quizzically. He shook his head and his demeanor changed back to one of a man in complete and total control.

"I can't say that has been something I've experienced," he said.

Belle smiled. She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know your experience has pretty much saved our lives, and I truly appreciate it. Just…just let me do all the talking, okay?"

Reluctantly, Gold gave a compliant nod, and led Belle to the late journalist's mother, Mrs. Fa.

They walked another block until they reached the store that Mrs. Fa owned. Belle introduced herself and Gold (using fake names, which Gold was happy about), asking the woman if they could ask her a few questions about Mulan. Mrs. Fa nodded her consent, and showed them to the back room. A shrine with a picture of a beautiful young woman in the center – obviously made in memorium for Mulan – sat near the back wall of the tiny room.

Mrs. Fa gestured to the chairs next to the shrine. Gold declined, opting to lean against the wall, while Belle sat across from their host.

"Mulan was such a talented, beautiful girl," Mrs. Fa said, staring longingly at the photo.

"We're so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Fa," Belle said quietly. "What can you tell us about your daughter's investigation?"

Mrs. Fa placed her hands in Belle's as she sighed angrily. "They told me to be patient," she said. "The police have done _nothing._ They said it was a burglary, but nothing was missing. She was _scared!"_

Belle squeezed her hands gently in reassurance. "We're hoping we can do more,"

The older woman stared at Belle with uncertainty, but her small smile was hopeful. The look broke Belle's heart.

"Did you know my Mulan?" she asked.

Belle knew she had to lie, but it didn't mean she had to like it. She gave a small nod.

Her silent reply seemed to have satisfied Mrs. Fa, as she stood up and removed something from Mulan's shrine. She handed it to Belle.

The postcard showed an enlarged picture with the words _"Welcome to Washington Square Park"_. When she flipped it over, she saw eleven numbers: _+1980 1745 126_. It was written in a vaguely familiar order.

"She sent me this. I got it in the mail the day my daughter died," Mrs. Fa explained. "I tried dialing the numbers. The police have no idea, either."

She handed it to Gold. He looked at it for a long moment, then shook his head to indicate he had no idea either. He gave it back to Belle, who stared at it again. Suddenly, she recalled why the number order looked familiar.

"Where did Mulan go to college?" she asked.

* * *

"Belle, please explain to me again why we are here?" Gold asked, pushing the door to the NYU Downtown Branch library.

Belle gave a nod of thanks before she explained. "The numbers are a call number for a book,"

"Call numbers start with letters," he countered.

With Belle leading, he followed her into an elevator. She pressed the button for the floor above them.

"In the Library of Congress, yes," she smiled. "But in Harvard-Yenching, it's a classification for Asian literature."

He tilted his head and stared at her quizzically. "How could you _possibly_ know that?"

"Well, if you will recall, I _did_ go to university to become a librarian," she replied. "And, _Wǒ yě zhènghǎo shuō zhōngguó huà,"_

Gold gave out a hearty laugh, something she had never heard him do before. _Hé hěn hǎo de zài nà, qīn'ài de."_ he complimented.

Belle gaped at him, then shook her head. She supposed she shouldn't be all that surprised; he _was_ a spy, after all.

The elevator dinged and slid open its doors. Belle and Gold sauntered out and immediately set to work.

They searched through the shelves for several minutes, until Gold found the book. He opened the slim tome and flipped through a few pages before finding a piece of paper with names.

"Unbelievable." Belle breathed.

Gold gave her a wry smile.

A few minutes later they sat at a computer. Belle opened different tabs and started typing in the list of names.

"Hank Maestriano died two weeks ago in a car crash," she said after a while. "Daniel McGinty…heart attack, last week."

She glanced both ways before leaning towards Gold, whispering, "If this is a hit list…why is this guy still alive? Gabriel Singer," she clicked on the tab, revealing a new article about a new air cargo route that recently opened, and the pilot that will be one of the first to fly it. "He flies cargo planes, apparently."

Gold reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cell phone. "That's a good question." he told her, punching in a number.

A few thousand miles south, back in New Orleans, a phone buzzed on the cluttered, blood-splattered floor of an office. It went unnoticed by the investigators as they searched for some sort of idea about what happened to the owner of the office.

"Hell of a mess." one of them commented.

Gold paced as he waited for Graham to pick up the phone. "Come on, come on." he urged under his breath. When no one picked up, he decided to call another phone number.

Someone answered, a voice he was unfamiliar with.

"Graham Humbert, please." he ordered.

"Hold on." they said.

Silence fell as he waited for…whoever it was, to pass the phone to Graham.

"Hello?" another unfamiliar voice said.

"Where's Graham?" Gold demanded.

Belle watched as the once vaguely anxious face fell to one of deep despair as he listened to whatever was said to him. He slowly sat down and hung up the phone. She saw his eyes water, and she started to worry a little.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

Gold was quiet before he answered her.

"Graham." he stated simply.

Belle felt her heart break a little for the man before her, as he saw him struggle to keep himself together.

She nodded her understanding.

* * *

 _ **CIA Headquarters – Langley, Virginia**_

Emma was royally pissed off. She knew that it was protocol to keep things from her – she was still a relatively low-level agent – but _they_ were usually good about giving her _some_ indication of the danger.

She stormed into Regina Mills' office. "Frank Gold is _not_ a retired analyst who's never worked the field." she stated loudly.

She threw the file Regina gave her onto her desk.

Regina, very calmly, looked up from her paperwork. She and Emma stared at each other for a long time.

She then grabbed a blank piece of paper and started to write. Emma glared at her suspiciously.

When Regina finished, she handed the paper to the angry agent. "That's a file number," she said. "You need to visit the back room. You're going to meet the Records Keeper."

Ten minutes later, Emma found herself standing next to an ornery old man as a giant vault door slowly swung open.

"I never knew this place existed." she said, some awe coloring her tone.

" _It doesn't."_ the Records Keeper growled.

He led her into the vault; a low-ceiling file room with shockingly small number of file cabinets lined along the walls. A table and desk light sat in the middle of the room.

The Records Keeper went straight to one of the cabinets, and in no time at all found the file she was looking for.

He tossed the giant, brown folder with a large, red-inked stamp labelled _R.E.D_ onto the table.

"Frank Gold's file." he informed her.

Emma lifted an eyebrow, but went ahead and opened it. She found more files stacked inside and proceeded to go through them. Almost all of it was stamped "ultra top secret", with every other sentence blacked out.

She looked up and stared at the old man with disbelief. "You gotta be kidding me." she said.

"Frank Gold was one of the most effective black op agents we've ever had," the Records Keeper stated. "He retired drug-lords, terrorists. Hell, he toppled _governments!"_

"Wow…" Emma said, clearly impressed by her new adversary.

"Yeah. He was truly gifted," he said with a small smile.

"Why was he retired?" she asked.

"He got old," he replied. "Then some thumb-sucker came along and tagged him 'RED'."

Emma tilted her head. "'RED'?"

"Yeah, RED. R-E-D. 'Retired: Extremely Dangerous'."

Emma couldn't help but agree with that assessment. She imagined Regina was the "thumb-sucker" that tagged him such a thing. But, unfortunately, she would never know.

"Yeah. They don't make them like that anymore." the Records Keeper sighed.

Emma looked up at him, feeling slightly offended by that statement. She turned towards the vault door, muttering a "thanks" and pulling her phone out.

"I'm gonna need a data haunt," she told the person on the other side of the line. "Every flak he was ever involved in. Every agent he's ever run. I want NSA telephone surveillance, voice recognition…"

* * *

 _ **Pensacola, Florida**_

"We have to find Jefferson Hatter," Gold said.

He and Belle walked towards one of the many piers scattered along the shoreline in Pensacola. They had once again stolen a car and drove from New York to Florida, but Gold wouldn't tell her _why_ until they had changed clothes (she was relieved to be out of her skirt and tights and into something a little more glob-trotting like jeans and a basic long sleeved shirt…but she was a _little_ disappointed that he exchanged his suit for something much more nondescript and movable,) and had arrived in Pensacola.

"Jefferson died two years ago in a fire," Belle reminded him.

"Jefferson has died many times," he said rather matter-of-factly.

Belle was a little surprised by the statement, and a little wary about it. They looked along the pier, Gold informing her earlier that they needed to hijack a boat to get to the mysterious Jefferson Hatter.

She spotted a sleek, red and white speed boat with the name _Elimination_ written on the side. She loved it on sight, and since she was, once again, going to commit a crime anyways, she figured they might as well do it in style.

"Oh, can we have that one?" she asked.

Gold turned his gaze into the direction of the speed boat. He looked impressed by her choice, nodding his approval.

They took the boat and spent an hour navigating through the swampy waters, until they came upon what looked to be a private pier and a house standing on four sturdy beams at least ten feet above the water. The pier was covered with multiple piles of junk, some even covered with creeping Belle, it looked a red-neck's paradise, but she could tell it was exactly what Gold was looking for.

He pulled the boat up long the pier, stepped out of the boat, tied it off and helped Belle out of it.

"Wow. All we need is a banjo," she couldn't help but comment.

Gold shushed her. "Keep your voice down," he ordered quietly.

Belle started to look around, once again feeling wary.

"Don't make any sudden moves." he stopped her. "Just stay close to me."

He gently grabbed her arm and they started to walk. "Don't use your cell phone," he added.

"You _took_ my cell phone," she reminded him.

He stepped away from her, but still kept a gentle grip on her arm. He slowly looked around for any hint of the man they're looking for.

"Don't talk about cell phones," he ignored her, continuing with his warnings. Don't talk about satellites."

Belle stopped walking and stared at him in comic disbelief. " _Seriously?"_ she asked loudly.

Just as Gold was about reprimand her, a loud spring sounded and what looked like a board covered in nets and leaves popped up and out jumped a man who was covered in said nets and leaves, though the leaves looked like scraps of paper hanging off of him. He was hunched over and held a crossbow, aiming it at Gold.

"Why are you trying to kill me?" the man demanded to know, his blue eyes piercing.

Gold slowly turned around to face the man, he dropped his cane and raised his hands.

"I'm not trying to kill you!" he said.

"Oh, yeah. You are!" the man, Jefferson, said with absolute certainty.

Gold stared at him with some confusion. "Why would I try to kill you?" he asked.

"Because the last time we met, _I_ tried to kill _you."_

"That was a long time ago."

"Some people hold on to things like that."

Belle had started to move behind Gold, mostly out of uncertainty than anything else. Well, and this Jefferson guy was really starting to freak her out.

Without warning, Gold sprinted forward, pushing the crossbow down. Belle tightened her grip on the back of his shirt.

" _I'm not trying to kill you."_ he said with conviction.

Jefferson straightened his back a little, realizing that Frank Gold was, in fact, actually not here to kill him.

"Okay?" Gold asked for confirmation.

Jefferson gave a hint of a nod.

"So that makes us friends. Right?" Gold assured him.

Jefferson smirked. "Right." he agreed.

"Good," Gold returned the smile. "Would you like to take that knife out of my balls now?" he asked.

Jefferson looked down at the large knife he held near the other man's crouch. He removed it and jerked his chin in Belle's direction.

"Who is she?" he wondered.

"Belle. She's not trying to kill you either."

Belle poked her head around, nodding her head fervently. "Yeah. Hi." she said.

Jefferson looked between her and Gold. "I don't stay in the open." he said, his own strange way of allowing them to live. He turned around and started to walk towards the swamp forest.

Belle bent down to pick up Gold's fallen cane, and passed it to him. Gold nodded his thanks, and they proceeded to follow Jefferson.

"Come on, I'll show you the house," Jefferson called over his shoulder.

Belle looked at the mad man and the house behind them. "What's that, then?" she asked.

Jefferson turned to look at her, the complete and utter disbelief clearly displayed on his face. "Decoy." he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"O-okay…" she stammered.

Jefferson led them to an old, white and rusty car covered in vines. He set his crossbow down and lifted the hood of the car.

"He lives in a car?" Belle couldn't believe what she was seeing.

The hood revealed a hidden entrance to an underground lair.

 _I can't believe this guy has an actual underground lair._ Belle thought.

"Come on in," Jefferson said, leading the way down a flight of metal stairs.

Gold indicated that she go first, which she wasn't too thrilled about, and followed behind the crazy man. When they reached the bottom of the steps, Belle saw a large, cavernous room with multiple alcoves and lots of mismatched objects. But, she noticed, it had everything one would need to survive. It looked like something one of those apocalypse survivalists would have.

"Why do you live here when you the other place?" she wondered out loud.

Jefferson chuckled. He wandered over to what appeared to be the pantry, grabbed a water and tossed it to Gold. "Let's put it this way: when the helicopter passed over the house last year, and I could feel their eyes on me," he grabbed two gas masks, walking back to the couple and handing it to them. "Wet like peaches." he added.

Belle blinked a few times, hugging the gas mask tightly to her chest. _Peaches?_

Gold moved the water and the gas mask under his arm, and pulled out the list he and Belle had discovered in New York.

"I have a list," he said, handing him the piece of paper. "It was written by a reporter who's now dead, along with everyone whose names are on that list. Well, _almost_ everyone."

Jefferson read the list, then looked back up at Gold. "Frank, how many times have I told you?" he said quietly.

Belle was afraid to hear what Jefferson has apparently told Frank Gold multiple times in the past, even though she didn't have a clue what it could possibly be about.

" _YOU CANNOT TRUST THE SYSTEM!"_ he yelled.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. So, the crazy man of indeterminate years was also a conspiracy theorist. To her amazement, that fact didn't completely surprise her.

Jefferson started pace, waving his hands around to emphasize how angry he was.

"I told you when you're _in_ the system, they switch the flip and you're _done,"_ he continued. "Man, satellites, cell phones, chips, net, the web, _the dentist_..." Jefferson pointed to his head as he verbalized his list.

" _Jefferson!"_ Gold interrupted.

Jefferson stopped his pacing and stared wide-eyed at Gold. "Hmm?"

Gold pointed to the list in the other man's hand. "That list is the one we need help with," he reminded him gently.

Jefferson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I gotta check the _files,"_ he informed him, like it was something he was going to do all alone.

"Of course you do," Gold said. "Thank you."

Jefferson walked towards a red vault door and proceeded to unlock it.

Belle couldn't believe what had transpired just then. When she felt Gold's eyes glance at her, she released a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

"Wow." she uttered.

The vault door opened and Jefferson walked in, grabbing a battered old top hat from a shelf on the left side of the door.

"This guy's insane... _mad_ , even," Belle observed.

"Well, he thought he was the subject of a secret government mind control project," Gold explained.

"This will take me not but a minute!" the mad man called.

Belle nodded in agreement. "Sure, that makes sense,"

Gold stealthily moved behind her, barely a foot between their faces. Belle felt her heart stutter a little. Not in the way it had when she thought she was going to die, but in a pleasurable way. _Oh, gods, what is_ wrong _with?!_ she thought angrily to herself.

"As it turns out," he said. "He really _was_ given daily doses of LSD for eleven years."

Belle looked between Gold and Jefferson. "In that case, he looks _great_ ," she said.

"Fantastic," he agreed.

"Got it!" Jefferson cried out happily. Carrying a disarrayed stack of papers, he walked out of the vault and to the table sitting in the middle of what could only be described as the main room. "Guatemala, fall 1981." he said, throwing the papers down. "Five of the guys on this list were there, not including us. Just outside of San Benito,"

He sat down and indicated that he wanted the other two to join him. Belle and Gold complied.

"Injun territory," Gold muttered.

"Yeah, it was a little village. Everybody was killed. Civilians," Jefferson continued. " _They_ told us, 'Go in there. Clean it up. Make it look like it never happened.'"

A strange look dawned on Gold's face. He suddenly remembered that day, through the blur of his many mixed up, dangerous missions.

"You think everyone on this list was there?" Belle asked.

Jefferson jerked his head up in surprise. He stared at her for a moment, before shooting up from his seat. "Damn it."he cursed. " _Damn it!"_ he repeated. He walked around the table and started to pace again. "Do you know what's _wrong_ with this country?" he asked.

Belle wasn't sure if he was asking rhetorically or not, but she felt compelled to answer anyways. "They're all trying to kill us?" she offered hesitantly.

Jefferson looked like he was going to kiss her.

 _I really hope he doesn't._ She pleaded.

" _EXACTLY!"_ he yelled.

Just as soon as he was agitated, he instantly calmed when he asked, "Is there anybody still alive on that list?"

Belle picked up the list, reading through the names again to try and jog her memory. "Gabriel Singer." she answered.

Jefferson grabbed Gold by the shoulder, gripping onto him like his life depended on it. "Frank! I _never_ thought I would say this again," he said. " _I'm getting the cat!"_

Belle was unsure about what transpired, looking back at Gold for an answer.

"You'll find out soon enough." he said.


	6. Florida to Alabama (Part 1)

Gold and Jefferson sat in an open-air restaurant, watching Belle make a call from a battered, old phone booth. They had decided earlier that it would be better if Belle inquired after Gabriel Singer, seeing as she was much more of a people person, and was significantly less suspicious than the two older men. Jefferson had protested at first, but finally relented when Belle had walked away from them and straight to the phone booth.

Jefferson stroked the giant stuffed, pink cat, glaring at Belle. He leaned towards Frank while he kept his eyes on the tiny woman.

"Who is she talking to?" he wondered. He dropped the cat on his lap to pick up a pair of binoculars, aiming them directly at Belle. He saw that Belle took notice of his not-so-subtle spying, as she gave him a quizzical look and turned her back on him.

Gold rolled his eyes and drank a sip of coffee from a to-go cup. Jefferson was a truly paranoid person, even for a former spy.

"Just take it easy, Jefferson." he warned him.

"Frank, we have _got_ to get rid of this dormouse," Jefferson said, still staring at Belle. "I know a great place up the road…lots of alligators…"

"We are _not_ getting rid of the 'dormouse', as you so quaintly put it." Gold growled.

Jefferson set down the binoculars and gave him with a questioning look. Gold sighed and took another sip of his coffee.

"I like her, alright?" Gold clarified.

The other man continued to stare at him, as if the man sitting beside him was the actual lunatic.

"What's the angle?" Jefferson asked.

"No angle. _I like her_." Gold answered.

Jefferson shook his head disbelievingly, and went back to stroking the cat. "Okay, so they pull her voice from the payphone – probably right now – install the recognition software and back-trace it to Singer," he thought out loud. "So _then_ we show up, they bring out the satellite and we're fried with Y-rays."

Gold observed Jefferson for a long, disconcerting moment. "How are you doing?" he finally asked.

Jefferson shrugged. "Good, fine."

Gold nodded, realizing that, for Jefferson, his current behavior actually _was_ "good".

The sound of a helicopter flying overhead caught Jefferson's attention. He immediately grabbed the binoculars again, pointing them at the helicopter to read its call sign.

"November…niner…748…" he muttered, repeating it to himself and writing it down on a napkin.

Gold gave him a wry smile and shook his head. He turned his attention back to Belle, who sauntered back to the table with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Singer is going to be in Mobile tomorrow," she announced when she sat down. "We can catch him at the air freight terminal."

She turned towards Gold, her smile widening. "How about that?" she asked him.

Gold returned the smile and nodded approvingly. Jefferson, however looked at her with uncertainty.

* * *

 _ **Mobile, Alabama**_

Four and a half hours later, Belle, Gold and Jefferson arrived at the Mobile Regional Airport. Belle and Gold walked together while Jefferson sulked behind, looking around him with suspicion. A red-haired woman in a business suit walked not too far behind them, which drew Jefferson's attention.

When they walked out of the exit, Jefferson stepped to the side, just out of sight of the automatic doors. He switched the cat from under his left arm to his right, looking like he was ready to pounce on some poor, unsuspecting soul.

As soon he saw the red-haired woman again, he immediately grabbed her, aimed the cat right at her and started leading her away. The woman gasped, her mouth trembling and her eyes widening in fear.

"No, please! No!" she cries.

"You smell like Washington." Jefferson accused her. He led her to an empty area not too far from the entrance, and pushed her against the wall. He pulled out a gun from somewhere in his jacket and aimed it at the woman.

"Who do you work for?" he demanded.

"Coldwell Banker, I'm a real estate agent!" she squeaked. She glanced down at the gun, shaking even more. "Please, don't hurt me!" she pleaded.

Jefferson shook his head. "No, no. _Who_ do you work for?" he asked again.

Through her trembling, she managed to give him an incredulous look. "What?"

" _Who. Do. You. Work. For?!_ " Jefferson repeated more forcefully.

Gold and Belle, who were walking the opposite direction of Jefferson and his hostage, heard her cry out. They stopped and looked around.

"Um…where's Jefferson?" Belle asked.

"Damn." Gold muttered under his breath.

He jerked his head in the direction of the woman's cries. Belle nodded and proceeded to follow him.

They ran until they came to a corner where Jefferson had a woman pushed against a wall with a gun and a cat aimed at her.

" _Jefferson!"_ Gold growled.

Jefferson kept his eyes and gun aimed at the woman. He reached for the purse that was hanging over her shoulder and yanked it off.

"Frank, _she's one of them_ ," he said. "She's been following us. There's a camera in her bag."

He threw the purse at Gold, who caught it and proceeded search through it.

"I'm going to kill her now." Jefferson announced.

"No, please don't kill…" the woman cried out again. She glanced at Belle and Gold pleadingly. "Don't let him kill me! _Please!_ " she begged them.

"Jefferson, just wait, would you, please?" Gold asked angrily. He dumped the contents of the purse out onto the ground. A wallet, a set of keys, some make-up and random little trinkets fell out of the patent leather bag.

"Jefferson, look. _Jefferson,"_ Gold gave the purse a good final shake before limping forward to shove the bag in his compatriot's face. " _No camera_."

Gold then handed the purse back to the woman. "Go, ma'am, now," he ordered. The woman hesitated for a moment before Gold growled out another " _Now!_ " She jumped, then scurried away.

Gold turned his attention back to Jefferson. Jefferson's head was down, looking like a child who got in trouble for putting his hand in the cookie jar.

"Jefferson, go find us a car, and please, _try not to kill anyone!"_ Gold ordered.

Jefferson's lower lip pushed out into a pout. "She _was_ following us, Frank." He muttered. Jefferson walked away ashamedly, stroking the stuffed cat as he did so.

Gold shook his head and walked back to a shocked Belle. He sighed dejectedly.

He never wanted anything like this to happen to her. He _never_ wanted his old life to catch up with him, nor did he want her dragged into it. When they first started talking three years ago after government pension services actually _did_ forget to send out a check, Belle's voice was a flicker of light in an ocean of darkness. Gold was, at the time, having difficulty readjusting to civilian life. Sure, by then it had been about eight years since he had retired, but after nearly thirty years of service, it was incredibly _hard_ to just _settle down_. Belle had changed all that for him. She had calmly listened to him growl and berate the entire pension system, while simultaneously called him out on his own actions.

After that first call, he became addicted to the sound of her voice. And after the twenty calls following that, he became absolutely entranced by the woman behind the voice. She gave him a reason to really attempt to settle down and accept that he was a retiree. Belle had also helped him realized how absolutely exhausted he really was.

Now here they were, running for their lives all because he was a fool in love.

Gold slowed his gait as he approached her. He held out his hand, which Belle happily took. He gave her hand a quick squeeze as he led them away.

"I'm sorry." he said.

Belle gave him a shaky smile. "It's alright…I mean, not _alright_ , I was sort of expecting that sort of behavior from him, but…not right away, you know?"

Gold returned the smiled and nodded sagely. "Yes, I know."

Without further incident, the trio arrived at the air freight terminal. They were told to wait in one of the hangers for Gabriel Singer.

When the engineer had finally left them, Belle crossed her arms and turned to Gold and Jefferson.

"'She has a camera in her purse, we have to kill her'?" She quoted. She looked between the two men, then turned her attention to Gold. " _Seriously?"_ Belle asked.

Jefferson stood dejectedly and looked down at his shoes, hanging on to his cat by the tail.

Belle rolled her eyes. _How did I end up here? What did I do wrong?_ She asked herself.

She gave Gold a sideways glanced and sighed. She knew what she did. And yet, as much as she had berated herself over the last few days, she couldn't quite find it within herself to regret it.

Gold saw a man wearing a grey shirt and dark pants walk out of a plane towards them. He looked back at Jefferson and nodded in the direction of the man. Jefferson returned the nod, walking around Belle.

Gold leaned towards Belle. "I'll see you in a minute." He told her. Belle gave him an understanding nod, biting her lower lip as she watched the two men walk away.

The man and Gold met halfway.

"Gabriel?" Gold called out. The man stopped walking, reaching for his aviators.

"Gabriel Singer, right?" Gold asked.

The man nodded as he removed his sunglasses. "What's this about?" he wondered.

Gold gave him a knowing smile. "Guatemala. 1981. San Benito." He said.

Jefferson moved from behind Gold to stand between him and Singer, his hand in his inner jacket pocket.

Singer looked from Gold to Jefferson and back.

"I can't talk to you." Singer said, trying to walk around the two men.

Gold lifted up his cane to Singer's neck and stopped him in his tracks, just as the other man pulled a knife out to his throat. Jefferson immediately pointed his gun at Singer's head.

Realizing that he wasn't going to make it out in one piece, Singer removed his knife and lifted his hands up in surrender.

"Pair beats ace." He said.

Gold and Jefferson look at each other, nod, and dropped their weapons as well.

"Let's talk in my office." Singer suggested, pointing in the direction of a warehouse-looking building with a tower-like structure built with it.

A few minutes later, they reached the office. Everyone except for Singer sat down.

Singer crossed his arms and stared at the trio for a long moment.

"I got one for you," he said suddenly. "What did this twice-decorated, west Texas Jew-boy Marine pilot say to the Chinese _New York Times_ reporter?"

"I give up." Gold gave him a wry smile.

" _Nothing._ I didn't tell her a damn thing." Singer replied.

Gold rested his hands on his cane and leaned forward slightly, looking Singer straight in the eye.

"The reporter is dead now, and everyone she spoke to is either dead, or a target," he informed him. He lifted his index finger and pointed it directly at Singer. "That includes you."

Singer let out a shaky breath, shuffling back and forth. His fear was clearly evident. "Oh, Christ." He breathed.

Singer moved closer to the group. "They had me fly this guy out there in the dead of night," he said in a low voice. "Hairy little air strip in the middle of nowhere. He was CIA, some dorky little spook in a suit and tie."

Jefferson nudged Gold. "Remember that guy?"

Gold nodded. "Black glasses." He said

"Yeah. He was giving the orders." Jefferson said, rolling his eyes at the memory.

"He picked up a package and I flew him back out," Singer added.

Gold turned his attention back to the pilot. "What was the package?" he wondered.

Singer shook his head. "It wasn't a _what._ It was a _who_."

Jefferson perked up at a sound only he could hear. He jumped up, picked up his binoculars from his neck and looked out the window.

"Frank! _Frank!_ " he called to Gold. " _It's that helicopter!"_

Belle raised a quizzical eyebrow. "We're in an airport, so…"

Jefferson shook his head fervently. "It's the same helicopter." He repeated. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of napkin. "November niner 748 Charlie." Jefferson showed it to Gold.

Gold squinted a little, then pointed at the napkin. "Is that a four?" he asked.

Jefferson looked at Gold. "This a four. And then that's a Charlie."

Singer rolled his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head as he walked over to the window.

Gold continued to decipher Jefferson's poor handwriting. "Is that a seven? What _is_ that?"

Singer glanced at the napkin. "I'll tell you what it is." He told them, moving closer to the window.

As soon as he reached the window, the glass shattered and Singer fell to the ground. More glass started to break as bullets flew threw.

Belle felt like a deer in headlights as the bullets rushed past her.

Then, all of a sudden she was on the ground, with Gold on top of her and shielding her from the onslaught. His weight was crushing her, so she somehow managed to roll him off of her. She looked across the room and saw Singer laying down with his eyes wide open. Jefferson had fallen off his chair and somehow rolled right over his shoulder, clutching the pink cat tightly.

Jefferson caught Gold's eyes and glared.

"I _told_ you she shouldn't have made that phone call!" he yelled.

* * *

 _ **Langley, Virginia**_

Emma Swan stood in the middle of a command center, listening to a head piece as she oversaw the small team of technical geniuses as they clicked away and made phone calls.

"We lost visual on the target." A male voice announced.

"All right," Emma said, standing in front of three large monitors. "Shake the tree."

"You'll pay for breakage?" the man asked.

Emma smirked as she watched the man's streaming camera show him reloading his gun.

"Yeah, Roger that."

The gunman once again pulled the trigger, and Emma took a step back to observe the multiple angles of the event. She turned her head to the left, and saw the satellite images showing that the trio running out of the destroyed office building and into the shipping yard.


	7. Mobile, Alabama (Part 2)

_**Mobile, Alabama**_

Jefferson, Gold and Belle ran through the maze of cargo containers, constantly looking over their shoulders as they did.

They rounded a corner between two rows of containers, and saw the red-haired woman from an hour earlier, standing in the middle of the row, start shooting at them with a machine gun. Belle yelped as Gold pulled her to one side while Jefferson ran to the other.

"That's right, old man!" the woman yelled with a maniacal smile.

Jefferson looked between her and Gold, looking both confused and angry. _"Old man?"_ he asked incredulously.

"No respect." Gold replied.

Jefferson checked his gun, then released the safety. He looked back at Gold with a murderous glint in his eyes.

"Can I kill her _now?"_ he wondered hotly.

Gold nodded, gently urging Belle further out of the way. Belle looked between him and Jefferson, feeling warier than she did before. She moved closer to Gold.

Jefferson aimed his gun ahead of him, before coming around the corner of the container. He saw that the agent had disappeared. He stomped his foot indignantly as Belle and Gold stepped out as well.

"She called me an old man! Can you _believe_ that?" Jefferson began complaining. "I'm probably like…maybe a _decade_ older than her, probably, but _old man?!"_

Suddenly the sound of gun shots bouncing above their heads forced them to once again take cover. As they ran behind yet another container, Gold pulled on Jefferson's sleeve. "Cat! Open the cat!"

Jefferson started to fumble with the pink cat until he finally found the zipper and ripped it open. He held out the cat to Gold, who promptly pulled out the grenade launcher stuffed inside. Gold gave Jefferson his cane, and, without hesitation, he stepped out from behind the container as Jefferson tossed the empty remains of the cat and pulled Belle further behind, urging her to duck her head.

Gold set up the launcher and aimed it at the shooter. When the shooter was within his line of sight, he pulled the trigger and released the grenade. With a loud hiss, the grenade flew through the air in a high curve, before landing on its target and blowing him to bits.

Gold limped back to return the launcher back to Jefferson and retrieve his cane. They started to move again when Gold spotted yet another attacker. The attacker stood on top of a container, pulling the clip off of a grenade and tossed it at the trio.

"Grenade!" Gold yelled.

Before the grenade could hit them, Jefferson adjusted his hold on the launcher and swung it as if it was a baseball bat hitting a ball. The grenade returned to its owner, also igniting in a giant _boom._

"Damn satellites," Jefferson grumbled. He turned his attention skyward, lifting up the middle finger of his left hand. "Boop to that!" he called out.

Emma smiled at the image of Jefferson Hatter flipping off the satellites. Once he was done with that, she saw that he turned to his two companions.

"Yeah, you just stay right there," she said quietly. "This is gonna be _good._ "

Jefferson and Gold looked around, searching for another threat that was sure to come. Jefferson turned to his left and saw his red-haired adversary launch a bazooka. He tugged on Gold's sleeve, motioning to the zooming weapon and the nearby shelter of another storage container. They fell to the ground, Gold covering Belle as best he could as Jefferson attempted to cover himself in the same manner.

The bazooka flew straight past them and into an innocent forklift, destroying it with a large cloud of smoke and fire.

Hesitantly, Gold looked up. He saw only flames roughly ten feet away from them, and took that as a sign that it was safe to stand up. Gold turned to see Jefferson standing up as well.

"Are you alright, Jefferson?" he asked.

Jefferson nodded. "Yeah."

Gold nodded and turned his attention back to Belle, helping her up and asking if she was alright as well.

Jefferson stepped out from behind their hiding place, facing off with the crazed agent in front of him.

"Jefferson…what are you doing?" Belle asked hesitantly.

Jefferson didn't reply, remaining more calm and focused than Belle had ever seen him. Gold, quickly realizing what he was planning to do, pulled Belle back further behind the container.

The agent reached for the bazooka from behind her back. Jefferson continued to stare stony faced at her.

When the agent was fully loaded, she aimed the weapon at him. Jefferson barely blinked an eye and raised his gun. Simultaneously, they fired their weapons. Belle watched in awe, but she felt herself tremble at the thought of the huge explosion that was going to hit her and Gold.

Except there was no boom. At least, not where she was standing.

Miraculously, the bullet Jefferson fired completely obliterated the missile before it even reached them. Instead, it exploded exclusively in front of the agent, pulling her into its inferno.

"Old man my _ass._ " Jefferson commented, looking rather proud as he stared at the rising flames.

As flames covered the screen in front of her, Emma gritted her teeth. "God damn it!" she yelled, yanking out her headset. She stepped away from the monitors to observe the techs and their progress.

"The smoke is obstructing the thermals." One tech announced.

"The signal's fading." Another one said.

Emma narrowed her eyes. _This is war, Gold._ She thought angrily.

"Call local first response. And send in a search team." Emma ordered before stalking away.

She looked at her watch and saw she had to go pick up Henry from school. She quickly went to her office, grabbed her keys and rushed out of the CIA building.

 _Gold is going to have to wait. He may have won the battle, but not the war._

Belle and Gold slowly emerged from their hiding place. Belle looked around with wide-eyes at the destruction left in their wake. Gold walked over to Jefferson and nodded in approval.

"Nice shot." He complimented.

"I know, right? I can't believe I – "Jefferson started to say, before clearing his throat and gave a humble facade. "I mean, thanks."

The distant sound of sirens could be heard over the roar of the flames around them.

"We should get out of here." Gold said.

Belle and Jefferson nodded, followed him into the smoke just as the sirens drew closer.

As soon as the first responders arrived, the trio had disappeared and drove out in a dark green minivan.

* * *

It was dark when they crossed over from the Alabama state line to Virginia. Belle lay in the back seat, sleeping rather soundly for someone who had experience multiple near-death situations in less than a week. Gold sat in the driver seat, looking down at her with a soft smile.

Jefferson sat in the passenger seat. "You really know to show a girl a good time, Frank." He chuckled.

Gold's soft expression changed instantly to one of murderous, blank intent.

"I will kill you, Jefferson." Gold growled.

"Take it easy. It's obvious she likes you." Jefferson said seriously.

Gold raised his eyebrows in surprise. He looked back at Belle and sighed heavily. "How can you tell?"

"Notice how she sticks around?" Jefferson answered. "If women don't like you, they don't stick around. You know that better than anyone."

Jefferson saw Gold clench his jaw at the implied mention of his ex-wife Milah. And, Jefferson imagined, Cora.

"It's not as if she has much of a choice, does she?" Gold asked stiffly.

"Sure she does. It's not like you're some beast keeping her prisoner in a castle or something." Jefferson replied.

It was quiet between them as Gold contemplated what Jefferson said.

"Really? You think so?" he finally asked.

Jefferson nodded reassuringly.

They fell silent once more. The only sound that could be heard in the car were the cars passing by them and Belle's deep, sleeping breaths.

"You know, if it _is_ the CIA, then there's only one place that we can go to find out why they're coming after us." Jefferson said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah." Gold agreed.

"We're gonna get killed there, for sure."

"In or out?"

"Oh, of course I'm in. I'm just saying…we're going to need some serious help."

Gold smiled knowingly, just as a he made a right turn into a parking lot. As soon as he stopped, he gently woke Belle up. Belle stirred, blinking away the sleep from her eyes as she sat up. Her eyes widened when she saw a statue of a snarling bear beneath a sign stating: _Embassy of the Russian Federation._

"This is _not_ the kind of help I meant, Frank." Jefferson said, his voice wavering a bit.

Belle looked between the statue and Gold. She didn't have to be in the building to know that whatever – or whoever – was in there was significantly dangerous.

"You're not actually going to go in there, are you?" Belle asked.

"I don't think I can go, Frank," Jefferson sighed. "The last time I was in their company, they put some electrical wires in some not very nice places."

Belle looked at Jefferson incredulously, her mind conjuring up images of what he could mean. She grimaced and shuddered when it finally occurred to her.

"Hang on to that for me." Gold said as he handed his gun over to Jefferson. He turned in his seat to look at Belle. "I'll be right back."

Gold took a deep, calming breath, grabbed his cane, opened the door and limped out towards the entrance.

Belle jumped out of the van and ran to Gold. She touched his arm, prompting him to stop and turn. Lifting herself up on her toes, she gave him a quick peck on his cheek.

"Be careful." She whispered.

Gold gave a curt nod, and continued to walk towards the embassy. Belle ran back to the car, and sat very close to Jefferson.

When Gold reached the entrance, he pressed a button on a call box, and looked up at the security camera that sat in a corner.

"Tell Elias Hades that Frank Gold is here to see him." He stated.

After a moment of silence, the front entrance door popped open, allowing Gold inside. As soon as he stepped in, four men came out and aimed guns at him just before the door swung shut.

* * *

Gold found himself sitting at desk in a dank, dark room. It was obviously a basement, as well as an integration room. He heard someone descend down the steps.

"I have to say, this is the last thing I expected when I got up this morning."

Gold turned in his seat to see the skinny, dark blond hair of his old friend and adversary, Elias Hades. Hades was originally from Greece, but sometime during the Cold War, he was recruited by the KGB and, like Gold, became and expatriate and a spy for another country. It was one of the things they had in common, and why they had yet to kill each other through out their espionage careers.

Hades sat down on the other side of the desk, leaning back in his chair.

"I have many times dreamed of killing you." he said, reaching inside and pulling out a small, spring loaded pocket knife. Hades held Gold's gaze as he reached inside a drawer and pulled out a large, unopened bottle of vodka.

"But now you are a pensioner." He laughed, using the knife to break the wax seal on the bottle.

"A couple of years now." Gold said quietly.

Hades shrugged. "Time passes."

Hades reached back inside the drawer and pulled out two small glasses.

"As we get older, things seem…less important," Hades mused as he poured the vodka into a glass. He handed it to Gold before pouring for himself. "Still, I owe you for killing Igor."

"Igor the Butcher." Gold snorted.

"He was a great asset."

"He was a _pig_."

"He was my _cousin_."

Gold raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I'm sorry."

Hades lifted his glass. Gold copied his movement.

"To Igor," Hades said as they clinked glasses. "The Butcher." He added with a chuckle as he brought the glass to his lips.

"He's not dead." Gold informed him before taking a sip himself.

Hades choked and set the glass down, staring at him incredulously.

"I flipped him." Gold said with a smile.

" _No._ "

"He owns a string of 7-Elevens in Orange County."

" _Malakíes."_

Gold shook his head. "He weighs 500 pounds."

Hades started to laugh, clapping his hands together. Gold joined him with his own quiet chuckle. Suddenly, Hades stopped laughing and regarded Gold carefully. Then he reached for the bottle again and filled Gold's glass once more.

"Drink." He said.

"Who are we drinking to now?" Gold wondered.

"Veronique."

Gold narrowed his eyes slightly.

"She was mine." Hades informed him.

"Impossible."

" _Yes!"_

Gold shook his head as they clinked glasses for a second time.

"Whatever she got, it was worth it." Gold commented after a sip.

Hades laughed in agreement before sighing heavily. "I miss the old days," he mused. "I haven't killed anyone in _years_."

"That's sad."

Hades set his glass down and regarded Gold once more.

"But I think you are not here for vodka." He observed quietly.

"I'm going to break into the CIA," Gold said. "I need your complete security layout of Langley. Cracks, codes, ID swipes. All of it."

Hades gave him a wry smile. "Amusing as this would be, it is beyond my reach."

" _Tha sas chrostáo mia chári_." Gold said in Greek.

"A favor from Frank Gold?" Hades repeated in English. He laughed again before shaking Gold's hand. "It's a deal."


	8. Langley, Virginia

_**Langley, Virginia**_

Belle could barely contain her excitement. She was participating a _real, actual_ mission. The kind of mission she had only read about in spy novels and seen movies. It was almost too good to be true. She started to bounce a little in her seat, her wide smile never leaving her face. Although she was incredibly nervous about pretending to be someone she isn't and infiltrating a heavily enforced government agency building. It's not something one does every day.

"I can't _believe_ you're actually letting me come along!" Belle exclaimed.

Gold gave her a wry smile. He reached into his pocket and handed Belle a laminated ID, which she took with glee.

"The badges Hades gave us are for General Harlow and a female nuclear physicist from Los Alamos." He told her.

Her smile fell as she read the details on the badge. She turned to him with a disbelieving look.

"Shaniqua Johnson?"

"You're adopted."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Okay, sure. Because _that's_ believable."

"That was the best he could do on short notice." Gold explained lamely.

"I'm sure it was." Belle replied.

It was quiet in the car for a while, as she rolled her borrowed name around in her head. She started to think about Gold's cover, which led her to think about his cane.

"Hey, Frank, since you're a general, aren't you supposed to be…um…you're not really supposed to have…" she started to ask.

"Not supposed to have a cane?" he finished.

Belle nodded. Gold sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

"According to my therapist and a number of medical doctors, the injury to my knee is…psychosomatic." He said.

Belle tilted her head as she absorbed what he said. As she thought about it, when they were running for their lives in Mobile, she _had_ noticed that Gold barely used his cane. Even when they were in the hotel room with Jefferson, getting changed into the uniform and lady business suit that his friend Elias Hades provided for them, he hardly even limped. It certainly made sense, in retrospect.

"I imagine you're wondering whether I had actually injured my knee," Gold interrupted her thoughts. "I did, indeed. It occurred during one of my final missions with the CIA. I don't remember much except how painful it was. But apparently it's completely healed. And for this mission to work…I need to leave the cane."

Belle opened her mouth to ask more questions when he parked the car. She took a deep, fortifying breath before opening the car door and following Gold – no, _General Harlow_ – into the belly of the beast. Or, more accurately, the parking entrance into the CIA.

Belle's nervous excitement returned as soon as they started walking towards the elevator Gold had described to her earlier.

"This is so _cool."_ She whispered.

When they reached the elevator, Gold gestured for Belle to enter first and followed after. As the elevator doors closed, he punched in a security code and prompted an eye scanner to activate. Belle reached inside her suit pocket and pulled out a look-alike prescription bottle. She tugged it open to retrieve the specialized contact inside.

As soon as the scanner indicated it was ready, Belle dropped the contact with a loud gasp. "Uh-oh…"

"What?" Gold wondered, turning to see Belle going down on her hands and knees.

"I-I dropped it." Belle admitted sheepishly.

The scanner's monitor turned red. The alarm started to blare and the elevators doors slid open to allow 3 armored men aiming assault rifles at them.

"Freeze!" one of them ordered.

Both Belle and Gold froze. Gold was ready to say something when Belle, in a remarkably calm voice, started to explain the situation.

"The General has dropped his contact lens," she said authoritatively. "Perhaps you'd like to help us?"

The security team lowered their weapons with a few mumble apologies and started to help Belle find the contact.

"Found it! I found it!" Belle exclaimed suddenly. _Thank God_ I _found it._ She thought.

Belle stood up carefully, then stuck the lens in her mouth to clean it. When she took it out, she quietly apologized and gently put it in Gold's left eye. Gold then leaned into the eye scanner, immediately silencing the alarms and giving an affirmative to his assumed identity.

The security team stepped out and saluted Gold. "Have a good day, sir."

"Gentlemen." Gold returned the salute.

When the doors closed again, Belle leaned against a wall with a relieved laugh. "My God! I can't believe that just happened."

"What do you suppose the punishment is for what we're doing here?" she asked suddenly.

"Death," Gold replied. "Maybe life in prison."

Belle grinned. " _Awesome._ "

Gold shook his head, barely containing his smile as he held down the button labelled P3.

Belle tilted her head. "Why are you holding that button?"

Gold answered her question by turning his eyes up towards the elevator's floor screen. It had started a P1, then started going down to P2, P3, B1, B2 until it stopped.

The doors slid open and Gold had Belle step out first into a locked door with a security panel attached to it.

"Did the Russians give you the code?" Belle wondered.

"No. It changes every six hours," he said. He gave Belle his hat. "Would you hold that for me for a moment?"

Belle took the hat with a nod.

Gold smiled at her, then turned and face the door. Without preamble, he kicked the wall next to the door knob, effectively breaking the drywall.

"It's unbreakable." He reached inside the hole and opened the door.

"Wow…" Belle said, clearly amazed.

"Come on." Gold said, opening the door further to allow her through.

The two stepped into what looked like a giant bank vault. An old man sat at a simple desk when he looked up from his paperwork. An awestruck smile graced his face as he stood up to greet them.

"Mr. Gold! It's been a long time." He said, shaking hands with Gold.

"Indeed it has, Henry," Gold said. "I'm going to need to see that Guatemala file." He added.

"Guatemala?" Henry repeated.

Gold nodded. "Yes."

Henry the Records Keeper chuckled. "Uh-huh, I think I can help you." He said.

Gold laughed as well. "Great."

Henry motioned for them to follow him inside the vault. Belle was amazed to see the number of filing cabinets. It exceeded the amount her office had.

 _All those secrets…just…sitting there. Waiting to be read._ Belle thought, biting her lip in an effort to quell the temptation of reading every last file in that room. If she did that, Belle imagined it would be instant death for her.

As Henry searched for the file, he started to chat. "It's been a whole new world around here since you left."

"I can imagine." Gold replied.

"Ah, here it is, Guatemala." Henry said, tossing the file onto the table that sat in the middle of the room. Gold set his hat on the table and started to leaf through it.

"You know; you're probably going to catch hell for this." Gold warned.

Henry snorted. "After what I've seen?" he laughed. When he calmed down, he took on a more somber expression. "I should tell you, there's a new guy – well, gal – that came down yesterday looking for your file. Name of Emma Swan."

"5'5"? Blond hair? Red leather jacket?"

"That jacket _was_ pretty red," Henry laughed again. "But she looked a little tough, though."

Gold regarded him for a moment, then smiled. He held out his hand to Henry. "You take good care of yourself, Henry."

"You too, Mr. Gold."

Gold turned on his heel, taking the file with him. He handed it to Belle as he reached for her arm.

"There's been a change of plan." He said quietly.

"What? What do you mean, change of -" Belle sputtered.

"I'll tell you on the way up."

* * *

Emma Swan paced through her office, sipping coffee and going through her open cases as she tried to figure out how to eliminate Frank Gold. She set her empty coffee mug down and went to her filing cabinet to grab yet another file when she heard her door open. Emma looked up and saw Gold wearing an Army general's uniform, casually hanging up his jacket.

Emma picked up her coffee mug and threw it at him. Gold blocked it then proceeded to attack her. She deflected his attack, then tackled him to the ground. He landed with a loud grunt as Emma stood above him, glaring.

"Bad move, Grandpa." She snarled.

She then kicked him in the face and started to walk away.

Gold, however, stood up, reached for a glass coffee table, lifted it and tossed right on top of Emma. She brought her arms up to protect herself just as Gold kicked right through it, hitting her stomach. She grunted and keeled over just as Gold stepped closer and kneed her in the face.

Emma fell backwards onto her desk. Her head spun a little, making her feel disoriented. Suddenly, Gold pulled her up and slammed his hands on her ears, disorienting her further. He grabbed the back of her neck to pull her down and knee her when she finally got her bearings back and punched him repeatedly in the stomach. Gold kneed her anyways to stop her and then threw her against the wall.

She quickly recovered, stormed over to Gold and slammed him against the glass wall of her office. She forced him to slide over until he found an opening, picked up her leg and flipped her onto the floor. The force of the flip caused Gold to fall with Emma, and they both struggled to stand up first.

They stood up at the same time. Emma grabbed a drawer from her desk and hits him with it, causing him to fall on top of her desk. She dropped the drawer with the intention of going after him with her fists when he grabs her, wraps his legs around her into a guard position, then grabbed her left arm and shifted himself to keep Emma in an arm guard.

"Ingrid trained you, yes?" Gold asked.

"Yeah…" Emma answered hesitantly.

"I trained Ingrid." Gold said, just as he lifted his hips up with enough force to dislocate Emma's shoulder.

She cried out in pain. Gold released her, tossing her to the floor and jumped off the desk, running towards the door. Emma crawled across the floor to get her firearm that fell on the floor during their struggle.

Gold saw what she intended to do, and to slow her down, he grabbed her free standing file cabinet and pushed down on top of her.

Realizing he wouldn't have enough time to reach the door, he decided to crash through the glass wall next to the door and started to sprint down the hallway just as Emma started to shoot at him, destroying the glass even further.

Emma managed to stand up and run after him, trying to push past the pain to reach her target. She saw him escape through a door and rushed towards it. The door, unfortunately closed before she could get to it. She saw it was one of the many security-locked doors and reached for her badge that usually hung on the pocket of her button down shirt, only to find it wasn't there.

"Son of a _bitch_." She breathed angrily, realizing that Gold had stolen her badge during their scuffle.

Emma returned to her office and searched through the wreckage for the security radio. As soon as she found it, the fire alarm went off.

 _Damn it._ She thought.

Pressing the talk button, she immediately growled out orders.

"Seal the building. Look for a white male with longish brown hair, 50s, wearing a white shirt, blue pants, shot in the shoulder."

* * *

Belle sat in the employee's lounge, waiting for some sign from Gold when the alarm went off. Everyone around her stood up and filed out towards the nearest exits. Belle, however, was unsure what to do. She continued to sit, nervously biting her lower lip.

As soon as the last person left, Gold appeared through another entrance, clutching his shoulder and looking particularly beat-up and bloody.

"Hey." He greeted.

Belle looked up and gasped at the sight of him.

"Sweetheart, we should go," Gold said, reaching for her arm. "We should go _now."_

He gently pulled her away and led her to a supply closet. Belle lifted a confused eyebrow, but seeing as this was her first ever mission, she wasn't going to argue.

Gold muttered that she should search for a bucket while he grabbed acetone, clog-removing crystals and a can of powdered bleach.

When Belle placed the bucket in front of him, he set to work pouring all of the acetone into it. He opened up the container of clog-removing crystals and the bleach and mixed them together. He put the plastic container in the bucket and urged Belle out of the closet just as the mixture started to boil.

Emma walked down the first floor hallway with the head of security, a middle-aged man of medium height and a bushy brown mustache.

"I've got checkpoints at every exit," he informed her as they passed the lounge. "What about the fire?"

Emma glared at him. "I already told you, there is _no fire._ Now turn off the alarm!"

Just as she said it, they walked around a corner and saw a storage closet fly off its hinges with flames following after it.

The two stared dumbfounded. The security guard appeared to have recovered quicker. "We have to evacuate." He announced.

" _No!_ " Emma yelled. "This is just a diversion! You make sure _everyone_ gets checked."

Firefighters filed in, going straight towards the storage closet. Belle peeped around the corner, then came out fully, crying and reaching for one of them.

"Help! Help!" she said. The firefighter turned to her, looking concerned.

"Please, come. I can't stop the bleeding!" Belle cried, pulling the firefighter back to where Gold was.

Gold sat on the floor, leaning against a wall with his eyes closed. The wound on his shoulder was plainly obvious. The firefighter kneeled down next to Gold, clearly unsure what to do.

Belle stood back, chewing on her bottom lip once more. She felt a little guilty for misleading the fireman, but Gold assured her that the only damage that he was going to afflict on the man was a bruised head and a wounded ego.

"You okay, sir?" the firefighter asked.

Gold's eyes snapped open. Before the firefighter could react, Gold ripped off his helmet, and slammed his head on the wall. The firefighter slumped down.

Gold met Belle's eyes. "Help me switch clothes with him."

"Make a hole!" Gold shouted in a very convincing American accent. He wore the firefighter's uniform, and carried the unconscious man who was wearing his old disguise over his shoulder. _"Make a hole!"_ he repeated.

Belle barely managed to hide her smile at the sound of his voice. She couldn't believe the things Gold could do.

They were about to walk through the checkpoint just before the parking garage when a security guard stopped them.

"Whoa! Let me see him," he ordered. Gold stopped, tilting his chin downwards to hide his face further beneath the helmet. The security guard looked at the unconscious man, shaking his head. "It's not him."

The guard waved him along. Belle held up her badge, which was barely glanced at and she was able to catch up with Gold.

Gold walked up to a couple of paramedics. "Guys, help me out here." He said, gently lifting the man off his shoulder.

As soon as the man was on a gurney, Gold reached for Belle, who wrapped her arm around his waist and silently offered him support. Gold leaned on her gratefully. They walked away from the gathering crowd, moving towards a relatively empty area of the parking garage.

They passed through an alcove towards the ambulance Jefferson managed to steal. As they walked closer, Gold saw Jefferson looking unusually tense, his hands firmly on the wheel.

"Jefferson?" he called out.

Gold and Belle drew closer, and they saw a gun pointed firmly at the back of Jefferson's head.

Gold started to move away from Belle's comforting arm, steeling himself for yet another fight.

The side door leading into the back of the ambulance swung open, revealing a smiling face with curly blond hair and a scruffy beard.

"There's still something wrong with this guy's head, Frank." Graham Humbert said in way of a greeting.


	9. Dragon's Cave

**_Langley, Virginia_**

"You're really something, Graham." Gold said as he and Belle climbed into the ambulance.

Gold sat next to Graham, who was closest to the door, while Belle sat across from them. With a loud grunt, Gold turned to the driver's seat.

"Are you alright, Jefferson?" he asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." Jefferson grumbled.

Belle bit her lip to contain a giggle. She turned her attention to Graham. As she stared at him, realization dawned on her.

"Wait, you're Graham? Graham who was dead, Graham?" She asked.

Graham raised a skeptical eyebrow and glanced at Gold questioningly. "Is she with us?" he wondered quietly.

"Yeah." Gold said with a nod.

Graham smiled and answered her question. "Not dead, just retired." Then he focused his attention on treating Gold's bullet wound. "I can't believe you let yourself get shot, God damn it." He tutted.

Gold ignored him, wincing as the other man started to clean it. "How did…how did you…" he started to ask.

"How am I alive?" Graham laughed. "Let's just say that my would-be assassin wasn't very quick."

Gold gave him a wry smile. "I guess calling wasn't an option?"

Graham laughed again just as Jefferson asked if they could finally leave. When Gold gave him the affirmative, he immediately started the vehicle and pealed out of the CIA.

* * *

 ** _CIA Headquarters_**

Emma sat on her wrecked desk, waiting for the doctor to push her shoulder back into its socket. Just as he shoved it back into place, Regina walked in and ordered him to leave. After asking Emma how she was feeling, Emma nodded reassuringly and turned her attention to her superior.

"What did he get?" Regina asked, crossing her arms.

Emma shook her head. "I have no idea."

Regina's eyes narrowed and her fists started to clench. "You just had your _ass_ handed to you by a goddamn _retiree!"_ she yelled.

"What did he do?" Emma finally asked the question she had been asking herself for the past 48 hours. "What did Gold _do_ to earn a lethal finding?"

Regina stood rigid and glared at her. Emma realized that she had unintentionally hit a sore spot with her superior.

"I have not been read into it," she replied hotly. "I like you, Swan. You're ambitious and you get results. But someone just kicked in the front door of our house. So you better get your shit straight. _Nothing in your mission is changed."_

Realizing that she was going to get nowhere fast, she nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

 ** _Somewhere in Virginia_**

Driving down I-95, Graham continued to treat Gold's wound in vain. He was growing more pale and fatigued, despite his friend's best efforts.

"You're still bleeding," Graham observed. "Whoever shot you must've nicked something in there."

"Mm-hmm." Gold mused distractedly.

"This is so bad." Belle said.

Looking at her with hooded eyes, Gold gave her a weak smile. "It's not that bad," he reassured. "People get shot all the time."

Belle rolled her eyes and shook her head fervently. "No, they don't. They get…paper cuts."

" _I_ mostly get shot!" Jefferson called out.

Everyone ignored him and continued to work on Gold. Graham sighed sadly after a few minutes. He handed Belle the cleaning solution and gauze he was using.

"This is beyond my realm of expertise," Graham admitted. "We're going to have to find somebody to plug this leak."

Gold sat back and thought for a moment. Only one person came in mind.

"We could go to Dragon's Cave." He suggested.

He heard Jefferson groan and throw his hands up, causing the ambulance to swerve briefly. Gold grunted in pain when the other man got them back on course.

Graham's eyes widened. " _What?"_

"Then we _all_ get shot." Jefferson lamented.

"I'll just go in by myself." Gold said.

"Want a vest?" Jefferson offered.

"It wouldn't do any good." Gold sighed.

Belle looked between the three men. She wasn't entirely sure _what_ Dragon's Cave – or was it a _who?_ – was, but she felt it safe to assume that the name was as ominous as it sounded.

* * *

 ** _Dragon's Cave, Chesapeake, Maryland_**

Gold slowly opened the door to the foyer of a grand Victorian mansion. He stepped through the door and took in the simple grandeur of the place. Just as the outside was a dark gray, the inside was a lighter shade with dark purples and blues thrown into the mix. It was clean and elegant, just as the owner was.

Gold looked through the house in search of the owner. He found a dining room primed and ready for eleven guests.

Seeing that no one was there, he moved on past the staircase to another closed door.

Cautiously, he opened it into what looked to be a sitting room. Seeing someone at the other end, he edged into the room towards a woman with elegantly curled blonde hair and wearing a light grey sweater dress.

She was arranging a bouquet of yellow roses when she heard the hardwood floors creak. The woman looked up from her work. Her blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Francis Gold." She said.

"Hi, Mallory." Gold greeted.

Mallory picked up a rose with her left hand and started to twirl it around. Gold managed to smile at the gesture. It was, indeed, fulfilling its purpose: distracting him.

"Are you here to kill me?" She asked.

"No." He shook his head. The motion made him dizzy and he closed his eyes to center himself.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Mallory staring at his shoulder intently. "You've been shot." She observed.

He managed a nod.

Mallory set the flower back down and removed her right hand from underneath a pile of flowers. With her hand she pulled out a sawed-off assault rifle. She nodded her head to the window behind her.

"Do tell Jefferson to stand down before he gets hurt." She said.

Mallory stepped around the table, revealing a rather poorly-hidden Jefferson using a bush disguise behind the window.

Gold started to laugh, until he realized that laughing was making him light-headed. Mallory reached him just before his knees started to buckle. She guided him out of the room to the front staircase in the foyer.

They both turned at the sound of the front door opening. Graham came through first with a huge smile on his face and was followed by Belle, clutching the Guatemala file close to her chest.

"Who's the girl?" Mallory asked Gold.

"She's with me." Gold answered. He would have elaborated had he not felt so winded.

Graham reached them, opening his arms widely to Mallory. She stepped into his arms, effectively closing the distance between them.

"Graham!" she exclaimed happily, giving him a brief hug.

"Hey, Mal," he greeted happily. He stepped back and looked down at her appreciatively. "You're still as sexy as ever."

Mallory rolled her eyes and playfully slapped his arm. "Oh, you old heart hunter you!" She chided with a giggle.

Graham laughed and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping back further. He gestured to Belle, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the foyer.

"Belle, this is Mallory Carabosse. She's the best wet work asset in the business," he introduced. "And a true artist with an RPN." He added admiringly.

Belle tilted her head to the side. "What's that?" she asked.

Mallory smiled sweetly. "I kill people, dear."

"O-oh. Right." Belle nodded, hugging the file closer to chest as if it would protect her. _Now_ she understood why Jefferson and Graham were so hesitant to bring Gold here.

"Alright, you may all wander through the ground level while I take Frances upstairs and set him to rights again," Mallory announced. "Oh, and Graham, _do_ make sure Jefferson doesn't make too much of nuisance."

Gold sat in an armchair in the upstairs hallway, grimacing slightly as Mallory sat on her knees beside him and pulled out the bullet from his arm.

"You were lucky." She said quietly, placing the bullet in a glass of vodka. She readjusted her reading glasses then proceeded to stitch up the wound.

"How did you do it?" Gold asked suddenly.

"Do what?" Mallory wondered, still focused on the stitching.

"How did you make the transition?" he elaborated. "You seem so calm here. At ease."

"I love it here," Mallory said with a small smile. "I love the baking, the flower arranging. I like the routine."

Gold raised a dubious eyebrow.

She finished the last stitch and set her tools down in another glass, then poured vodka over them. Mallory then sat in the other armchair.

"Well…I _do_ get a bit restless sometimes," she admitted. She leaned in closely and lowered her voice. "I take the odd contract on the side."

Gold couldn't help but laugh.

"I just can't stop." Mallory shrugged.

"Yeah, tell me about it." He mumbled.

"You can't just flip a switch and become someone else," she said sagely. She handed him a piece of gauze, urging him to put pressure on his newly stitched arm.

Mallory leaned back in her chair, removed her glasses and crossed her legs, staring at him intently. Gold couldn't help but squirm under her gaze. He nearly forgot how intimidating she could be.

"So. Tell me about your lady friend." She ordered.

Gold sighed and readjusted his position in the chair. "She…Belle makes me think I could have a life. A _real_ life."

Mallory chuckled and shook her head. "Oh, Francis. You're such a romantic."

"What?"

"A _romantic._ It's why I've always been fond of you."

"Mal…"

"You're all hard on the outside. But inside…well, inside you're all _gooey._ "

Gold shook his head in disbelief.

" _Gooey."_ Mallory said with finality.

* * *

Sitting around the dining room table, which was now covered in file papers and food, the group of four former spies and Belle went through what she was sure was known as a "debrief". Mallory went around filled cups of coffee while Jefferson sat at one corner of the table, eating to his heart's content. Belle sat across from Graham, who was perusing the files, and next to Gold who was slowly getting the color back in his cheeks.

"The entire back half of the Guatemala file has been blacked out," Graham announced. "But there's a list with eleven names, plus one that's redacted."

"All the names on the list are dead. Except for Frank and Jefferson." Belle added.

"And all these names that were on the reporter's list are in the file, too. But she has an additional name," Graham pointed to the bottom of the list. "Alexander Dunning. Somebody's protecting him."

Mallory glanced over his shoulder, tapping her chin. "Hmm…I believe I heard that name before…" she mumbled. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. "Ah! I remember now! Dunning is the CEO of Browning-Orvis."

"Gangsters." Jefferson said through a mouthful of food.

Belle bit her lower lip and cocked her head to the side. While she had never heard of Browning-Orvis, she knew that everything was slowly starting to become a very, _very_ complicated. And dangerous. Definitely dangerous.

"Browning-Orvis is a company that primarily does defense contracts," Gold explained for Belle's benefit. " _Very_ connected."

"If the CIA is protecting Dunning, he's under surveillance." Graham observed.

Silence fell over them, with the exception of Jefferson's loud chewing. Belle looked between Graham, Gold and Mallory, who were clearly racking their brains for some way around a CIA surveillance team.

"We _could_ just go visit him." Gold said mysteriously.

Mallory clearly knew what Gold had planned. "Well, you're certainly not going without _me_."

Graham apparently caught on as well, because he smiled widely. "Well, then. It looks like we're getting the band back together."

Jefferson looked up, smiling as well with his mouth full. "That's nice." He mumbled.

Belle felt her eyes widen. She wasn't sure what was going to happen now, but she was absolutely certain someone might get shot again.

She only hoped it wouldn't happen to herself, or anyone else in their rag-tag team. It may end up being whoever was trying to kill Gold and Jefferson.

After sending Granny home, Emma slowly walked up the stairs to check on her son, Henry. Her arm was in a sling and there was a slight limp as she quietly walked through the hallway. She saw that his door was open, and she smiled. At least he was making it easy for her to check up on him.

Emma stared at him for a long time when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She stepped away from the door frame and answered the phone.

"Yeah?" she said quietly.

"We just got a tip," Regina announced. " _RED_ has a new target."

"A tip?" Emma asked.

"FBI is already on the scene." Regina, apparently, couldn't elaborate any further.

"I'm on my way." Emma ended the call and quickly treaded down the stairs.

She tapped in Ruby's number, her friend and neighbor, as well as Granny's granddaughter, to ask if she could watch Henry until Granny came back the next day.


	10. Somewhere in New England

Gold, Jefferson and Graham drove into the long, rocky driveway to Alexander Dunning's remote mansion.

Graham fiddled with the tie of his dark green Irish Army uniform as Gold counted the bullets in both his gun and back up magazine.

Jefferson cautiously maneuvered the stolen Irish diplomatic vehicle as they came closer to the mansion.

Nearly a mile west of the car, Mallory and Belle hid in the woods, looking out for both the trio and the FBI team that was reported to have been observing Dunning. Mal looked through her scope and found a well-concealed tent guarded by a group of heavily armored men.

"The FBI has a lookout on the east perimeter." Mal informed them.

"Copy that." Jefferson replied.

He parked the car and stepped out of it to open the passenger door for Graham. Gold followed suite just as Alexander Dunning came with his security team to greet them. He was three inches shorter than Gold, with a closely trimmed white beard and a crisp, clean dark blue suit. Dunning smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Alexander Dunning," he introduced himself, shaking hands with Graham. "Pleasure to see you, Brigadier-General O'Brian."

Graham smiled. "The pleasure's mine, Mr. Dunning."

* * *

"They're in." Mal announced.

Belle looked between the older woman and the direction of the mansion. She shivered thinking about what the trio had to do, and sitting next to a woman who was apparently really, _really_ good at killing people. She zipped up her white and camo jacket up more as a cold breeze blew in.

She wasn't sure why Mallory wanted her there. She didn't have any particular skills that would be even remotely helpful in an operation like this one.

It was quiet between the two women for a while, when Belle finally spoke up.

"Frank said you wanted me with you." She said.

Mal turned to her and smiled. "Yes, I thought it might be nice to have a bit of girl time together," she said jovially. "And I just wanted to tell you that in all the years I've known Francis, I've _never_ seen him like this,"

Belle felt a blush cover her cheeks and a wide smile grace her lips.

"So, if you break his heart," Mallory continued. Her light blue eyes pierced into the younger girl's very soul. "I will kill you. And bury your body in the woods."

At first, Belle thought she was kidding. She giggled awkwardly. But after a moment of thought, she quickly realized that Mallory was _not_ joking and she sobered her expression.

"Wow. Okay." Belle replied.

Mallory smiled sweetly, then turned her attention back to the scope. "Oh, this is gonna be _fun._ "

* * *

Dunning lead Graham, Gold and Jefferson to the foyer. He reached for a CD player hooked to the wall. He beckoned Graham closer as he pressed a button on it.

A clear recording of Dunning's voice boomed out of the player.

 _"Here at Browning-Orvis, we have a longstanding commitment to humanitarian causes, because exemplary corporate citizenship is our highest calling. As a company with global reach and global interests, we have global responsibilities. Now sometimes I'm asked, if this commitment to ethical behavior affects the bottom line. And my answer is always the same. Yes. It makes it stronger."_

Dunning smiled and pressed another button on the wall, revealing a hidden door. He gestured for Graham to follow. Graham raised a dubious eyebrow and glanced at his two companions before going into the room.

The door closed behind him, leaving Jefferson and Gold alone with Dunning's men. They glanced at each other, then back at the door.

In the room, Dunning showed Graham around the concealed office. It was tastefully decorated with dark wood and furniture, and clearly well-stocked with a multitude of amenities. Graham couldn't help but be a little impressed by the little gangster man.

Dunning walked over to a wet bar and poured a finger of whiskey from a crystal decanter into matching tumblers.

"This is my safe room," Dunning explained proudly. "Sound proofed. Reinforced. Swept for bugs daily. You could fire a gun in here, and no one would ever know."

Graham smiled and tipped his head in a gesture of admiration. "Mr. Dunning, I cannot imagine a more perfect place to conduct our business." He said, thickening his Irish accent.

Dunning crossed back to Graham, giving him one of the tumblers.

"You do know that there's a surcharge for any arms deliveries to countries that are embargoed by the United Nations," he reminded.

"For every problem, mate, there's a solution." Graham replied.

Dunning smiled widely as he clinked his glass against Graham's.

They were about to take a sip when a buzzer sounded. Dunning mumbled something about his idiotic body guards as he went to open the door. He was ready to tell off his men when Gold greeted him with a knock-out punch.

 _"How many CEOs can say that?"_ the recording continued.

* * *

"So how did you guys meet?" Mal asked Belle. She looked away from the scope to look at the younger woman fully.

Belle couldn't help but smile whimsically as she recalled the beginnings of her "relationship" with Frank Gold.

"We started talking on the phone. I worked at the government pension office as a phone representative," she explained. "I guess I liked that it wasn't real. Of course, _now_ I'm a fugitive, the CIA wants to kill me and I'm hiding in a hole."

Mallory chuckled and patted her shoulder reassuringly. Her expression had suddenly changed, from amused to sad.

"I was in love with an agent once," she sighed.

"What happened?" Belle wondered.

"Well, I was with MI6. And the relationship wasn't… _sanctioned,_ " she said. "When it came to light, my loyalty was questioned. And I was ordered to kill him. It was a test."

"What did you do?"

Mallory returned her attention back to the scope before she answered, "I put three bullets in his chest."

* * *

Dunning woke up duct taped to a chair, being glared down by three angry looking men. Graham had untucked his uniform, while Jefferson wore a plastic trash bag over his suit. Gold had only removed his overcoat and leaned on the edge of Dunning's desk.

Dunning looked at each man individually, trying to determine who they were, what they were doing in his office and why they had tied him up with duct tape.

"Okay. Who the hell are you guys?" he finally asked.

Gold smirked. "You don't remember us?" he wondered. "We remember _you. You're_ the man whose shit we cleaned up down in Guatemala in 1981."

"And the question is, _who_ did you fly out of there?" Graham added.

"You don't have any idea what you're getting into," Dunning laughed. "First of all, you can't touch me."

Graham stood up, smiling knowingly. "Sure we can." He stood in front of Dunning and back handed him.

Gold and Jefferson moved behind the desk, opening a briefcase and pulling out what looked like torture devices.

Gold picked up a blow torch. "Oh, yeah. Where'd you get this?" he asked Jefferson.

"Home Depot," Jefferson replied.

"How much?"

"Ten bucks."

Gold nodded appreciatingly, setting the torch down. Jefferson rummaged through the briefcase, gathering different clamps.

"Do you want…nuts…nipples…or potty trainer?" he asked, holding up the clamps.

"All right, stop it." Dunning ordered.

"Nuts." Gold lit up the torch.

Dunning shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Stop it. For the love of Christ, stop it!" he yelled. " _Stop already!_ "

Jefferson carefully placed the chosen clamps in the flames.

"Now do you have something to say?" Graham asked.

Dunning glared at him before answering. "We extracted a young lieutenant, who is the son of the late Senator, James Stanton."

Gold turned off the torch. "Robert Stanton?"

"Vice President of the United States." Graham elaborated.

Jefferson squinted his eyes as he lowered the clamps. "You're saying…the Vice President killed all the people in that village?" he asked dubiously.

"Yeah, went _completely_ off the reservation," Dunning said.

"And that _New York Times_ reporter?" Graham questioned. "Did she pressure you?"

Dunning nodded. "Yeah. She called me twice. So I called the Vice President."

Jefferson continued to stare at Dunning like he had two heads. He shook his head disbelievingly.

"And what did you think would happen then?"

"Oh, whatever," Dunning scoffed. "I _made_ him Vice President."

"You kept your mouth shut and the Stantons made you rich." Graham shook his head disapprovingly.

Dunning shrugged, clearly unaffected by the comment. Graham, Gold and Jefferson looked at each other, silently trying to figure out what to do next.

* * *

Outside of the safe room, the unconscious bodies of the security guards lay spewed out as the recording of Dunning's pitch continued to play.

" _…been working with our partners in the developing world to out corruption and…corruption and…corruption and…"_

An FBI agent with headphones sat up taller as he heard the skipping of Dunning's voice. He looked at his superior, informing him of what happened. He nodded and pulled out his cell phone.

As soon as he finished his conversation, he ordered the SWAT team outside to start surrounding the mansion as a large, black SUV pulled up.

Stepping out of the car was the bruised and battered face of Emma Swan. She was greeted by the FBI agent in charge, who immediately led her to the tent.

"We're in position," he informed her. "Perimeter's set. No one's getting out."

Emma nodded. "Good. Get me connected with the main house. There's someone I need to talk to."

After a few minutes of agonizing silence, Dunning decided to break it. "Okay. I will pay whatever it costs to get rid of this thing."

The three men looked at each other once more and laughed. The action clearly surprised Dunning.

"We're not here for your money, mate," Graham informed him. "We're here because that _New York Times_ reporter had the list of names of everybody who was in Guatemala. And everybody on that list has been ordered killed. Except _you._ "

"I had _nothing_ to do with that," Dunning insisted. "Don't you see? He's trying to clean up his past and get rid of me in one shot. He's trying to cut me loose before he runs for president."

They looked at each other once more when Mal's voice crackled over the radio.

" _We have some major activity out here. Looks like we're blown._ "

Gold closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. They spent too long interrogating Dunning. They gave just enough time for Emma Swan to put two and two together and start to surround them.

 _"They're moving a team up the east side."_ Mal added.

"Are you gonna let me talk to them?" Dunning asked seriously.

Graham scoffed, shaking his head fervently. Dunning looked up and scowled.

"I can negotiate something," he insisted.

"Thanks, but when we want your help, we'll get out the drain cleaner." Jefferson threatened.

Dunning looked at him and smirked. "Listen, _Plastic Man_ , those bastards out there have orders to kill me, too."

"I hope so." Graham grumbled.

"Why?" Dunning asked sarcastically. "'Cause I'm _a bad guy?_ I'm _scum?_ "

Jefferson looked at Gold desperately. "Can I just shoot him now? _Please?"_

 _"No._ You don't have people killed," Dunning said haughtily. " _I_ have people killed. I'm the _bad guy_ , _remember?"_

Jefferson's face scrunched up with rage. He reached under his plastic covering for a gun when Graham punched Dunning out. His head lolled to the side and a loud snore came from him.

Shaking his hand, he glanced at Jefferson apologetically. "Not worth the bullet." He said.

Suddenly, the phone ringed. Gold reached for it and answered it.

"Hello?" he greeted.

 _"How's retirement, Gold?"_ Emma Swan replied.

Gold chuckled. "It's been a real blast,"

 _"If we have to come in there and get you it's gonna be messy,"_

"Of course, it will be messy,"

 _"I've got my orders, Gold,"_

"They come from the Vice President. He's ordered these hits to cover up the war crimes he committed in Guatemala,"

 _"I find that hard to believe,"_

"How did you know you'd find me here? Some anonymous, _untraceable_ tip?"

He heard Emma sigh and shift uncomfortably before answering. _"Here's the deal Frank,"_ she said. _"You're gonna walk out that front door and give yourself up. You have my word no one will shoot you. I'll_ personally _take you in and you will get to tell your side of the story. You got sixty seconds to decide."_

Gold hung up the phone and switched it for the radio.

"What's it look like?" he asked Mallory.

 _"Three's no clean exit. They seem to be coming from everywhere."_ She replied. _"If we had a distraction, I could cover you to the woods."_

Gold sighed and leaned against the desk. Graham moves closer, staring at him intently.

"It looks like there's not a lot of options, mate," he said softly. "I mean, somebody's gonna have to make a hard choice if you're going to get out of here alive."

Gold looked up at the implied suggestion. He knew exactly what Graham meant, and it hurt him to lose his friend in that way. But there was no other choice, he knew, and it also meant that Graham would be released from a lot of pain.

"It's been wild." Gold said with a sad smile.

Graham laughed quietly. "Wild and crazy," he agreed. "But I wouldn't want it any other way."

They shook hands briefly before pulling each other into a hug.

"It's been an honor, Graham." Gold whispered.

"Good luck."

* * *

Just as Emma glanced at her watch, the phone rang. She quickly picked it up.

 _"Tell your men to hold their fire,"_ Gold said. _"I'm coming out."_

Emma immediately dropped the phone. She picked up her radio and started to bark orders. "He's coming out. All units, hold fire. Repeat, all units, hold fire."

She walked outside the tent and raised her binoculars in the direction of the mansion.

West of her, Mallory started to cock her rifle. "Get behind me, Belle," she ordered. Belle quickly did as she said.

When everything was set, she talked directly to Gold. "Come out now, I've got you covered."

Just as she gave the word, the front door opened and a man stepped out wearing a hat and trench coat. As soon as he came into view, gun shots were fired and he collapsed.

Emma drops her binoculars in surprise. "Who fired that shot?!" she demanded. When no one gave her a clear answer, she ran to the mansion, pulling out her gun as she went.

When she finally reached the body, she tugged on it to reveal a man who wasn't Gold, but one of his associates, Graham Humbert.

"What the –" Emma started to say when shots began firing all around her.

As Mallory continued firing, Gold and Jefferson stepped out of a side door and ran in the direction of the woods.

"Tell me when the boys make cover and we'll move." Mallory ordered Belle.

Belle looked to her left, searching for Gold and Jefferson. They came into view and ran past them.

"Now." Belle said.

Mallory quickly put the safety on and started to run. Belle trailed behind awkwardly, trying to run in the snow and side step all the fallen trees while trying not to fall. Suddenly, she tripped over a rock and started rolling down a hill into a ravine.

Mallory stopped and tried to figure out a way to reach her without seriously injuring herself, except bullets started to fly all around her. She shot back and escaped, feeling awful for leaving Belle like she did.

Belle groaned and slowly started to sit up. When she raised her head, she saw four guns pointed directly at her.

* * *

The SWAT team continued to chase after Gold and Jefferson. They ran through a drain pipe, where they saw Mal waiting for them on the other side. When Gold emerged, he saw worry and regret color her features. Jefferson lingered behind, pointing his gun threateningly in every direction possible.

"They've got Belle," she said sadly.

Gold's fist tightened and his jaw clenched. He moved in the direction Mallory had come from, only to have her stop him.

"Frank, you're no good to her dead." She reminded him.

Jefferson nudged them. "We gotta move." He said.

He turned in the direction of a road just above the drain pipe when a dark colored car pulled up. Jefferson aimed his gun at it.

When the car came to a complete stop, a man emerged with an all-knowing grin and a tip of his hat.

"Come. Now is not time to waste." He said.

Mallory stepped closer to get a better look at him. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped in surprise.

" _Elias?"_ she asked incredulously.

Elias Hades smiled widely. " _Eínai ypérocho na sas doúme kai páli, lagoudáki_."

Mallory grinned. "It's nice to see you again, Elias."

Gold looked between the two of them staring longingly at each other. Jefferson, though his gun was lowered, was unsure what to make of the whole situation.

"Did…did he just call you 'bunny'?" Gold asked hesitantly.

Mallory returned her attention back to him, giving him a withering look. "Life, sometimes, is complicated." She said with finality.

Without another word or glance, she started walking towards the car, with Gold and Jefferson trailing behind her.


End file.
